


Our History Remains

by ThesePictures



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Non-Consensual Touching, Reunions, Romance, Spoilers, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThesePictures/pseuds/ThesePictures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Post ADWD]<br/>[Quiet Isle/Eyrie]</p><p>Life as Alayne Stone carries on, much as it has.<br/>Each day, she is losing herself.<br/>How free she would feel to leap out the moon door.<br/> To fly, if only for a brief moment. </p><p>The Brother knows her. She can be saved. He can save her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all -  
> This is my first Fan Fiction to be made public. I've always only written for myself, as a form of both therapy, and to satisfy my need to make happy endings. Since I am an avid reader of fan fiction, and a hopeless romantic, also a SanSan fanatic, I wanted to give this a shot. 
> 
> This fiction is based on both book and show elements. 
> 
> Please note I'm not a literary genius, I do make mistakes, and I take this as a fun hobby. I don't own anything in the Song of Ice and Fire world, just a fan. So enjoy with me as we adventure into another tale of our favourite pair.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. She gasped for much needed air as her handmaiden pulled the laces on her corset tighter and tighter. She was almost grateful for the pain the garment brings. It had been a long time since she'd felt anything. A year? Almost two maybe? Her time in the Vale with the non-stop mind games had taken it's toll on her. She looked at her reflection in the ornate mirror, as her handmaidens fluttered around her like moths to a flame. Adjusting her dress, fussing about her hair. She started to look beyond that. Look at herself. She barely recognized what she saw. Her long dark chestnut hair, her ivory skin, her long slender form. A woman grown, but a shell of herself. Her eyes, once as blue as the summer sky, now dulled and lightless. She continued to stare and wonder how much longer she could take. How much longer could she be a pretender. Live amongst these lies spun on top of more lies.  
  
How free she would feel to leap out the moon door.

To fly, if only for a brief moment. To -  
  
"Alayne?" Clara, her newest handmaiden repeated, snapping her back to reality.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Your Lord Father will be expecting you downstairs now..." she said, for what must of been the second time by the tone of her voice.  
  
"My apologies Clara, I appreciate your help" Alayne replied, smoothing her dress down over the bodice. She conjured up whatever smile she could and fastened her mockingbird clasp over the neck of her gown, giving her overly revealing gown a sense of modesty.  
  
She sighed as she walked down the halls of the great keep. She walked alone at a steady pace wondering when her nerves would take her. But they didn't come. And that was a sad thing. Was she so far gone that she could no longer be shy or nervous to be paraded around like a prized possession of Petyr? She knew the hall would be filled with hundreds upon hundreds of guests, all here to celebrate the shortest winter in history. All here to drink what stock of wine and ale the Eyrie had collected. She also was well aware she was under strict order to be on her very best behaviour from her father, or else in his words "all our planning will unravel and we will lose this game". She knew "losing this game" meant she would die. And upsettingly enough, that thought no longer seemed to bother her. She was nothing anymore. The lines of truth and false were now vastly blurred.  
  
Alayne stood at the top of grand marble staircase waiting to be announced. She looked down at the room of people and realized hundreds may have been an under exaggeration.  
  
"Alayne Stone, natural daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal and Lord Protector of the Vale." she heard her name called aloud and slowly she descended down the great staircase, one hand loosely holding onto the railing, the other lifting her dress lightly with a delicate hand. She kept her chin up, empty eyes staring over and above the crowd of faceless people, to the walls of her cage behind them.   
  
  
***  
  


"Tell me again, brother. Tell me why we're going to this mummer's farce. Or better bloody yet, tell me why I'm coming with you?" Sandor Clegane spat as him and Stranger kept a safe distance between Brother Narbert and Brother Gillam, who apparently still hadn't forgiven Stranger for taking his ear off previously.  
  
“Two things, my brother. One is a private matter, which won’t be discussed right now. The other, well, we're called upon to offer the Seven's blessings upon the young Lord of the Eyrie. Perhaps we will be bringing him back to the Elder Brother's healing hands... Oh and to celebrate the return of spring after a quite merciful winter, of certain" Brother Narbert replied.  
  
"Aye, that may be well and great, but I got _two things_ for you... This is a false spring for one, and two, that doesn't well explain why I'm here when I could be taking advantage of this warm weather and digging some holes for the bodies comin' our way" he replied, annoyed.  
  
"Sandor, the Elder Brother says your eyes will be needed. That is all I'm aware of. We must trust in his judgement and counsel. You and Brother Gillam are not to speak, just listen and watch. It is a rare gift that even I may speak, you know. You must keep yourself hidden from eyes most watchful" Brother Narbert articulated the last sentence with utmost importance.  
  
"I bloody well heard you the first tens of times you've told me. Now on with you, we’re almost at the gates. I'll take my fuckin' vow of silence a little early" he lifted his cowl in place and shrugged his wrapped scarf up until just eyes and some hair hung down. His revealing scars were hidden to the outside world. He nudged Stranger on, and soon enough, they approached their destination in complete silence. 

He couldn't believe the effect that being a Brother of the Quiet Isles brought. They were allowed swiftly into the castle with little more than a question or two. They were greeted with smiles and blessings. Sandor was used to gapes, stares and japes his entire life from the scars that had taken over half his face. This robe was like a robe of invisibility and he was quite thankful for it. He studied the huge marble walls of the castle. The veins of blue and black that swirled through the white of the stone. The old carvings, beautiful, in their own way. They were politely shown their sleeping quarters from one of the servants of house Arryn, the deeper they went into the castle.  
  
Sandor didn't like the idea of being under the same roof as that rat, Littlefinger. Rather, Lord Littlefinger Protector of the Vale and some bullshit, as he was now known. Even just the thought of that smirk always plastered on his face, or the way he leered over his little lost bird way back in Kings Landing, made him fill up with anger. But his little bird was lost to him and potentially the world now, and the vermin that was Petyr Baelish, still managed to thrive. He crushed a fist into his other hand and ground his teeth together at the thought of seeing the scum, and not being able to do a bloody thing about it. He could feel his rage slowly building up when a swift knock at the door interrupted him.  
  
Speak of the fuckin’ devil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading the first chapter! More will be coming soon. Any confusion or unclarity will be straightened out in the near future.


	2. Chapter 2

Littlefinger stroked that pitiful little beard of his while the falseness of his pleasantries practically seeped through the pores of his skin. He hadn’t changed much since he’d last seen him slinking around the halls of the Red Keep. A few more grey hairs, a line or two more around the eyes, but still very much the peacock strutting around with it’s head up it’s arse.  
  
"Hello my brothers. You have my hearty thanks for making the trip. When you are settled, please come down to the great hall, we will be feasting and dancing in celebration and thanks to the gods for such a quick winter. And on the morrow, I will ask you to help with my private matter, and then I will take you to my stepson and ward, Robert Arryn, who will need your prayers greatly.” Petyr Baelish said, giving that shit-eating grin of his.

The way Littlefucker’s grin grew when he said ‘private matter’ made Sandor want to kill him even more. He didn’t know why exactly, but he didn’t really need a just reason to want Baelish dead. He knew this courtesy was all a farce, but what for, he couldn’t be certain. With Littlefinger, it could be anything.  
  
News of the outside world beyond the Quiet Isle was very much that, news. At first he would listen for stories from travellers. Word spread of the marriage of the little bird to the Lannister imp, King Joffrey’s mysterious death, and the suspicious disappearance of Sansa Stark after the little cunt of a King died a gruesome death. After many sleepless nights and broken shovels, with no new knowledge of the little bird’s whereabouts he figured knowing nothing was better than knowing at all. Now all he knew or cared to know was that the Lannister name still ruled with the youngest whelp of incest sitting pretty on the chair. Much more than that, he didn’t know and didn’t really give two shits about. His part in that mess was done.  
   
"Well then, let's get the hell down there and get this over and bloody done with. There will be wine?" Sandor asked after the door was firmly shut and the sound of footsteps had receded.  
  
"Brother, you will be silent and ever-watching. For what, I’m not entirely certain, but you will do as you’ve been told. And afterwards, when we have safely returned to our chambers, I will allow you a cup of watered wine" Narbert replied with a firm look.  
  
Sandor exhaled loudly and put his scarf back in place, hunching down lower into his great brown robe.  
  
How in the hell was he supposed to watch for something he didn’t even know he was looking for? Or what it was for that matter? Had Elder Brother lost his wits? This whole thing was tinged with something off. And if Sandor was being true with himself, he wasn’t entirely pleased with being back in civilization in a sense. He craved the quiet and somehow comforting loneliness he had become used to. That or to get pissed drunk so these unwelcome feelings would just bloody leave.  
  
He let out a defeated sigh and followed the brothers down the halls and into a great white stoned room filled with a vast number of people.  No one gave them much attention as they headed to the back of the hall to stand in a vacant corner. Only brother Narbert took a cup offered, and sipped on what Sandor begrudgingly figured could only be a fine wine, as he talked politely to a small group of Septas. Gillam stood quietly to his left, and Sandor leaned against the back of the wall, watching all the people in their fancy finery. He found himself thinking how not one of these noble wenches could even compare to the beauty of the little bird. She may have been lost to him physically, but she was ever present in his head and maybe even his heart, if he still managed to have one. He thought about the first time he'd really had a clear chance to look at her, back in the great Hall of Winterfell. Her beautiful blue eyes, that long auburn mane of hers, a shy but warm smile with a corresponding laugh and a delicate frame that matched her manner. Sure, those smiles and laughs had never been for him, but that didn't matter, in his head they would have been exclusively for him. The thought gave his heart a stab of pain. Sandor didn't understand how his thoughts of the girl still hadn't dissolved some years later. Maybe because he wasn't ready to part with them. Perhaps she was another scar on him, only this one still hurt and wasn’t as visible as the rest.  
  
"Lord Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal and Protector of the Vale" The steward called to gather the attention of the large crowd of guests. Sandor watched as the rat swaggered down the stairs, his mocking smile ever present on his face. He reached the bottom of the staircase and welcomed everyone and thanked them graciously for joining him for the celebration. This pageantry was bullshit.  
  
"Alayne Stone, natural daughter of Lord Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal and Protector of the Vale" the steward called out soon after. Sandor watched as all heads in the great hall turned towards the staircase to get a glimpse of this _natural_ daughter. Why a bastard would be announced or even cared about in the first place was beyond him. Bastards were not something to be proud of as far as he was taught. Though it didn’t surprise him Baelish would want to showboat whatever he had spawned, bastard or not.  
  
Sandor lazily looked over to where Petyr stood proudly watching with a glint of heat and some kind of amusement in his eyes and a smile on his lips that managed to reach his eyes. Curiously, Sandor followed the crowd and looked at the bastard girl making her entrance.  
  
Sandor’s heart immediately dropped to his belly and he felt the bile rising to the back of his throat. In fact, he was certain he would collapse like a green boy, but he had the wall to grasp on to.  
  
Seven. Bloody. Hells. A burning heat that felt as hot and consuming as wildfire took over him as he struggled to control himself. He kept his eyes locked ahead.  
  
Slowly down the stairs, walked a beautiful maiden. Her dark hair was long, lush and full of loose curls, piled up together with a silver clasp scattered with emeralds. Her eyes were blue and her skin was porcelain. She wore a scandalous emerald green dress that clung to her body like it was sewn on. The bodice was tight and cut just below her chest to her collar bone, and clasped together at the neck. The inner contours of her creamy white breasts were exposed and her long beautiful legs made their appearance in the cut in her dress that went to her thigh.  
  
His heart began aching. His head was spinning, he could feel a cold bead of sweat roll down the centre of his back. The girl. It was the girl. It was his little bird. Granted, she had matured. Significantly. Yet, it had to be his little bird. Sandor refused to believe he was now seeing shades of the past. His hands began trembling and his knees were giving out. He breathed in and out. He couldn’t look away from her in fear she would disappear.  
  
Sandor decided either his head had decided to fuck with him, revenge for years of the alcohol abuse he’d knowingly took on or he was really seeing his little bird right here, right now. Yes, her hair had changed, and her small little fragile body had now transformed into a beautiful young slender woman's body, with curves in all the right places. But it was her. It was his salvation, found again.  
  
It all started comings together in his mind. Sandor knew after he had left King's Landing and the battle of Blackwater, Sansa Stark was forced to marry the little lion man. Of course he had heard tales of her and the imp fleeing, however everyone had always assumed they left together. But no, the little bird had found sanctuary in the clutches of what she must assume to be her saviour, Baelish. The fucker must be spilling his seed at just the thought of having Sansa Stark in his grasp.  
  
Snapping out of his hurricane of thought, Sandor watched as Petyr took the little bird by the hand and walked with her up the stairs so they might talk to their esteemed guests together. It angered Sandor beyond belief to see Littlefinger touching the girl, but he clenched his jaw and listened intently.  
  
"My Lords and My Ladies, you are honoured guests to us at the Eyrie and we welcome you to our lands. We wish to celebrate with you the quick return of spring and also to introduce you to my beautiful natural daughter, Alayne. Though, tonight, she looks much like a Lady of the House Baelish!” he said as a jest and beckoned the little bird to speak.  
  
A growl rumbled in Sandor’s throat. He hated Baelish. He hated this whole thing. Sure, seeing the girl was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, like maybe the Gods listened to him for once, bringing her back to him. Yet, seeing her wrapped up and displayed like a fucking mockingbird made him ill. What else had changed about her? Was she still even the same chirping bird he’d left behind in a fiery chaos some years before?  
  
A familiar sound brought him back to the now stuffy room. The little bird. Her voice was just as articulate and courteous as it had always been, yet it was missing that sweet melody that was woven through it. Sandor suddenly felt deprived.  
  
"Thank you father, and thank you welcomed guests for coming. Please share our meat and mead and do keep my dear Robert Arryn in your prayers for a swift recovery.” She bowed her head briefly and then attempted a smile. Sandor felt another tight squeeze in his chest as he heard the lifelessness in her voice and realized that smile was the she same ones he’d seen her force in King’s Landing for that little shit, Joffrey.  
  
While more words spewed from Littlefinger’s lying mouth, Sandor watched the little bird carefully. She looked so beautiful yet so wrong. So close to him and yet at the very same time, so far. She wasn’t present, not really. Though she looked and played the part of the gracious, adoring lady, he’d seen this act before. She was likely just as miserable as she ever was in the Red Keep. He hoped she wasn’t treated the same.

  
  
*****

  
  
As the feast began, Sandor sat in a far row with his brothers on each side of him and his face hidden under his cowl while he slowly attempted to eat with shaking hands. Bloody useless.  
  
Brother Narbert looked at him curiously. “Is all well, brother Hurd?” he asked quietly.  
  
Sandor nodded, remembering his false name and didn’t take his eyes off this _Alayne Stone_. He watched her with interest as he noticed Petyr's over affection becoming more and more visible the longer he watched and the more Petyr drank. Sandor watched how the little bird looked out at the crowd of people with dead eyes and a blank expression. What the fuck had Littlefinger done to her? Was his displays of affection as obvious to everyone else as it was to him? And if so why wasn’t anyone doing a bloody thing about it?  
   
Suddenly a very alarming thought hit him. Sandor wondered if this was why he was brought here. If the Elder Brother knew Sansa Stark was here, playing a false role as Littlefinger’s bastard daughter. He began to wonder if it was his duty to bring his little bird back to safety. Even if it was not, and this was all some strange coincidence or a sick joke from the Stranger, he would make it his obligation. He would never fail her or leave her behind again. Ever. But first all he wanted was to get on his knees and wrap his arms around her tightly and thank the bloody seven she was alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading! Please excuse errors and confusing sentences, I'm working on smoothing out the kinks. Thank you for taking a chance on a new work and writer, you've really made my day just by reading my story. Also, don't fret if you're thinking "Hey, wait a minute ThesePictures! I'm pretty sure I've read a story like this before with brother Clegane finding Alayne Stone!" Yes dear reader, I'm sure we all have (it's a not so secret fantasy of mine) but since GRR won't let us have nice things, I want to share my version of this vision! Enough ramblings! More to come.


	3. Chapter 3

Alayne sat at the dais in the great white hall, and watched the guests feasting, sharing laughs and ale. She wished she could feel happy for them, feel jealous of them, feel anything besides the numbing pit of emptiness that had taken over her emotions. Yet she couldn’t. Those feelings had all left her long ago, leaving her with nothing. Sometimes Alayne found herself wondering what was worse, the void as she knew it, or the pain of the past. Her spiralling thoughts kept her awake at night and occupied during the day.  
  
She looked down at her large plate of barely touched food and took a delicate sip of her wine. She knew that Petyr would not be happy with her for her lack of enthusiasm, but his threats were becoming no more than empty promises and acts of perversion. It had bothered her once upon a time. If she was being honest with herself, it still bothered her, but she had mastered the art of bottling her feelings. The Eyrie was a lonely place for a girl with so many secrets.  
  
Turning her attention back to the charade of an evening, her eyes continued to scan the crowd. So many faces. So many unrecognizable people. She was quite relieved to find the interest in her, the mysterious bastard daughter of Littlefinger, had seemed to die down, the drunker the guests became. Petyr hadn’t informed her on his true intentions of this night, not really. He had came to her a fortnight prior and detailed the evening he had planned in her honour deeming that the ‘time was right’ for Alayne to be introduced. He was followed in by a seamstress before she could ask questions. They did not speak of it again until the night before last, when he took her on his knee much as he always did, and explained the importance of her behaviour as his doting daughter. She agreed with every little thing he had to say in hopes she could be free of him that much quicker.  
  
Alayne exhaled lightly, pushing back thoughts of Petyr and his wandering glances and even attempted to relax a touch, until she caught eyes with a hooded form at the back of the room. Being that the Eyrie wasn’t a large castle itself, even the largest of rooms could hold no more than half a thousand people, she had a clear view of this stranger’s glance. She looked at him carefully.  
  
He was a huge, hulking man, garbed in a brown robe of a brother in prayer. A few strands of black hair hung next to the gleaming dark eyes that were visible through the dun scarf that covered the rest of his face. Eyes that met hers. Eyes that were haunting.  
  
She knew it was rude to stare but she couldn’t look away, and the brother's gaze hadn't wavered either. There was something about those eyes that were pulling her in. Was it rage or relief she saw in the glint? And why the sudden interest in a outsider when she cared for little these days? Oddly, she felt the need to get up and approach him. To find out more. Perhaps he was simply a passing holy man she had seen before. Or was it something more? Alayne Stone wasn’t one to meddle, but she felt like she had no control.  
  
With a clouded head, she began to rise when she suddenly felt an icy cold hand travel up the cut in her gown. Alayne let out a little yelp in surprise and sat immediately back down as Petyr's hand snaked around to caress the inside of her thigh from underneath the table. She sat perfectly still, numbing out the sick feelings she was used to experiencing whenever he wanted to touch her.  
  
"Have I told you just how delectable you look tonight my daughter?" Petyr leaned in and spoke quietly in her ear.  
   
"Thank you, my lord. I'm glad I could please you" she replied, quite aware he had drank more than his share of wine this evening. She could smell it on his breath as he got closer. His hand carefully inched higher.  
  
"Oh sweetling, you always please me. This -" he lightly ran a finger over her clothed sex "will please me even more... Soon. I will tell you more soon. You and I will have the ending we deserve.” he whispered.

Smoothly he took his hand out and resumed back to his surroundings, as if it had never happened in the first place. For the first time in a long time, Alayne sent a silent prayer to the gods, hoping that no one had witnessed that. It seemed Petyr was having a difficult time taking his own advice to heart and it had the potential to be dangerous to the both of them.  
  
Alayne shuddered lightly to herself, and looked back for the mysterious brother. Anything to keep her mind off of what had happened, what had happened many times before, and what would happen later. She didn’t wish to analyze Petyr’s words of ‘deserving endings’ at this moment. Not when the thought of him touching her suddenly started to rehash old feelings of when she actually had hopes and dreams of escaping. She still had the need to be free of this place, yet the term escaping had turned to by _whatever_ means necessary.  
  
There was a time, way back when, she dreamed and even dared to hope of being rescued. Though it wasn’t Alayne being saved, but another, familiar girl. She would think of the only true knight she’d ever known, saving her like he’d done before. Keeping her safe like he told her he would back on that night the world was aflame. He would wrap her in his long cloak, kiss her once more with his rough lips and take her far away from the Eyrie, cutting down whoever stood in their way. Yet, as time stretched on the hope vanished, and her dreaming turned into nightmares. Where once a hound dog stood ever watchful at her side, had been replaced with the taunting and invasive jabs of a mockingbird. When the day came where the dreaming and emotions had left all together, Alayne was unsure if it was a good thing and her mind had finally found a coping mechanism, or if it had surrendered to defeat, and finally had enough.  
  
A sense of both alarm and intrigue hit her when she discovered the man was no longer in his seat. Two brothers sat where there were once three, and the remaining two were half the size of the missing brother, and wore no scarves. How could he get up and leave so quickly? Why would he leave his brothers behind? Had she offended him with her staring? Could -  
  
"Come Alayne, let us make our rounds to the guests, I have some important people I have need of you to meet, daughter mine" Petyr said as he took her hand, lifting it up to kiss her fingers and then leading her down to the rows of tables where the sounds of rowdy laughter and the sloshing of ale was everywhere.  
  
Petyr escorted her from group to group with one hand at the small of her back, and the other to wave around lavishly as he spoke. She was introduced to a many of Waynwood and Mallister, Hawick and Hunter, Terrick and Redfort. She also met many Knights and merchants from around the Vale, singers from far, dancers from even farther. Long ago, these people would have interested another girl she knew, given her excitement and joy even, but that was an old life from long ago, and she was Alayne Stone anyway.  
  
She watched with a sudden interest as Ser Lothor Brune approached with the two smaller of the three brown garbed men.  
  
"My Lord, Lady Alayne - These men are the brothers from the Quiet Isle. They've come to offer prayers to the little lordling.” Ser Lothar said, motioning to the brothers to step forward.  
  
"Ah, good to see you again my brothers from the Quiet Isle. Now this is a treat!" Petyr spoke, clapping his hands together. “I must say once more, thank you for coming, though I was quite certain there were three of you… Now which one does the speaking?" he asked with a hint of a smirk. It was clear to Alayne that Petyr was uncharacteristically drunker than he should be in a social gathering. Everything Petyr did, he did with precision and a plan. She couldn’t see a reason behind being in his cups.  
  
"That would be me, Brother Narbert. And this is Brother Gillam. Brother Hurd is ah, relieving himself but will return. You will excuse them if they do not speak, they are novices whom have taken their holy vow of silence. We are gracious for your invite and would go to the young Lord now, if it is permitted" Brother Narbert responded dutifully.  
  
"Now? During a feast? Surely you can wait until tomorrow to see Robert" Petyr replied, surprised that anyone should want to leave his affair.  
  
"Of course, my Lord, I was just under the impression the severity of his illness..." Brother Narbert began again.  
  
"I think it's a good idea.” Alayne chimed in. Anything to get away from this evening, and perhaps unveil some answers on the brother’s identity. “Father, I will take the brothers to pray, and return to you shortly after. Surely no harm can come from their words, and Sweetrobin sleeps at all hours, I think it would be a welcome intrusion for him.”  
  
Petyr lightly stroked his pointed beard and showed a false smile.  
  
"Of course, of course. Allow me to have a dance or two with my sweet daughter, and I will have her meet you in Robert's chambers shortly… Ser Lothor, show our guests to Lord Robert’s chambers if you will. Come Alayne.” his pleasant tone was as false as his smile.  
  
Alayne watched as the brothers nodded stiffly and disappeared out of the great hall. Had she truly gone mad for suddenly caring about the identity of a mute penitent? Her thought became quickly derailed as Petyr slowly wrapped his one hand around her waist and pulled her in tight, grasping her hand with the other and leading her in a dance.  
  
"Oh Sweetling" Petyr clucked. "You're letting your emotions get the best of you again" he said, this time with a genuine grin.  
  
"On the contrary Father, I'm doing as you’ve asked. I'm allowing the guests and visitors to see how much we love our Sweetrobin. I must look very devoted if I'm willing to give up this beautiful evening with my handsome father and his guests to take care of a sickling child. And I'm sure the Arryn name still means a lot to our supporters" she replied, arching an eyebrow.  
  
Yes, she was basically a detainee in this new world she lived in, but it didn’t mean she wasn't going to learn anything this time around. She had listened carefully to every piece of advice Petyr was so eager to give, and remembered her lessons for when the time became useful. Despite being called a stupid girl in the past, Alayne knew she was anything but. Her wealth of knowledge could now be considered a very useful tool.  
  
She watched as Petyr's smile turned into a glow of adoration and she nodded dutifully. They continue the dance longer than expected. She could feel Petyr's hardened manhood digging into her pelvic bone as he leaned in to hold her close and take discreet whiffs of her hair. Alayne was grateful for her escape when the singer changed his tune.  
  
"I'm going to reward you for that clever thinking later, sweetling" he whispered into her ear as she departed with goose prickles. He would be even more drunk later. He would pass out and not find her.  
  
Petyr truly must have thought he taught her well, she supposed. And he did. Perhaps too well. Alayne knew that though Petyr Baelish was a cunning, vicious and deviously clever man, he had one weakness. One strong weakness that could destroy everything he had worked and killed for. One thing that could ruin him. And Alayne Stone knew what that one weakness was. Sansa Stark.  
  
She slipped through the doors of the great hall, shutting the unpleasant noises of the evening behind her. Walking down the halls towards Sweetrobin’s chambers, she felt something strange and unfamiliar. It was her heart. It began beating faster than normal and the long dormant butterflies in her belly were blooming and taking flight. The more she walked, the greater the sensations became. It was strange. She was feeling something again. Be it nerves of excitement or worries, it didn’t matter. Something inside her was stirring, which was a marvel in its own. It was the gaze of the brother. It had to be. It had awoken something potentially dangerous within her. The truth was hiding in his grey eyes, and she would get answers no matter what it cost her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the minor delay, I've been battling a rough ear infection and the T3's made me a little loopy. All should be back on track :) I went through this chapter over and over, and I *think* I'm happy with how it turned out.

  
Sandor sat silently in the dark corner of his chambers. He was shaking with rage and felt like he would be sick at any moment. He knew it was not the wine like it always was, hell, he hadn't even had any which was a miracle all in itself. It was the damn emotions that had smashed back into him. Sandor wasn’t used to feeling much besides rage or drunk. Yet here they were. These memories and thoughts of Sansa Stark that had come bubbling up since he had found her again hiding amongst these shits. He had held her gaze and hoped to the gods that she might have recognized him and come to him. Fuck, even a smile. But her eyes, still upon him, remained unknowing.

  _Of course she wouldn't recognize you, your hideous face was covered!_ He thought to himself.

He had watched her closely as she moved to get up, but his hopes were dashed when she quickly sat back down. Was she going to approach him and then thought better of it? Then, before his thoughts could develop he had seen the reason why of it. That fucking Littlefinger had began touching the little bird. The way he leaned in and leered, her frozen expression. This wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed her like this. And just like last time, he was helpless to do shit about it. At least for now. Baelish must have thought he was being sneaky and clever, a doting father to his audience, but just another sick fuck like all the rest of them. 

The sudden realization had hit him hard. Perhaps Littlefinger was just as bad as Joffrey. Might be not in the exact same cruel ways, but just as fucked up none the less. Sandor began to panic at the thoughts of what may have happened to the girl while being in Baelish’s care. His eyes went from Baelish to the little bird and he saw a face that would haunt him to the end of his days. Blank, disconnected, numb. Almost as if no one could kill her, she was already dead inside.  
  
It had been a long time since Sandor had felt an anguish like that. Perhaps since he fled the Blackwater. It had took everything in him to leave that day without the little bird, and it took even more this night not to slit Littlefinger's throat. He had stormed out of the hall and back to his chambers where he now sat, contemplating his next move, wishing he had a drink. 

Suddenly, he jumped out of his chair and kicked it back as Brother Narbert and Brother Gillam came through the chamber door shortly after, quiet and contemplative.  
  
"Well? What is it? Did Lord Littlefucker announce he's going to wed and bed his sweet little bastard daughter?! Let me guess, he wants our fuckin’ blessings on that too?! Well? Get out with it!" Sandor spat.  
  
He could feel himself shaking as his bad leg collapsed from underneath him and he dropped to his knees. He remained this way for a minute and knelt his head down to the cold floor beneath him. Slow shaky breaths soon made their escape and he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.  
  
"My brother, please, tell us what is going on here? You are in great pain over this.” Brother Narbert asked as he bent over next to him.  
  
“It's this." He pounded at his chest. "My heart is being ripped from my bloody fuckin’ chest! That monster, that fucking Littlefinger, has the little bird! He has her against her will, I’m sure of it. He's got her caged just like she was in King’s Landing! I couldn't save her... I left... I couldn't..."  
  
Sandor felt himself trembling as a stinging pain came to his eyes. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, unable to control or even recognize the pain. Did Sansa Stark really make him this weak?  
  
More silence followed as Brother Narbert tried to piece together the puzzle with what Sandor had just let out. He must have come up with a short, sketchy version using this new knowledge and of what little he knew of Sandor when he first came to the Isle.  
   
Brother Narbert cleared his throat clearly trying to find the best way to approach the conversation.  
  
“My brother… The young woman. Lady Alayne, has been permitted by her father to meet us at the Young Lord of the Eyrie's chambers. He's quite ill. The Lordling, that is. A maester may very well be there, but if we can help, we can attempt to give you time with the lady. Would that help? Maybe she will give you a better understanding of what the situation actually is. Perhaps it is all a misunderstanding.” Brother Narbert spoke with a tenderness to his voice.  
  
Sandor lifted his head slowly and looked up at the brothers. He would have been embarrassed at a time, maybe even kill them for the display they had witnessed. But not now. He was different now. He was slowly learning how to be human again and even started praying. Praying for forgiveness to both the gods and the little bird. Now he would have that chance.  
  
"Come my brother, we go now” Narbert spoke, not bothering to help him up, they both knew how far pity would get with Sandor.  
  
Sandor slowly hauled himself up from the ground, adjusted his cowl, grabbed the scarf from the table and wrapped himself up again. He exhaled slowly and followed his brothers out of the chambers, down the hall and up several flights of steps. Finally they arrived to the big chamber door of the sickly Lord. Brother Narbert knocked faintly.  
  
A pounding began in Sandor’s chest. He was worried it was audible to those around him, but even if it was, no one gave any indication of it.  
  
A thin wisp of a man, a Maester Colemon, opened the door and introduced himself while he looked over the three brothers, clearly relieved when he realized they were no cause for trouble. It was etched in his skin that this man had been through much lately, no doubt this little Lord was a handful.  
  
“Oh! Come in, my lords. I'm afraid you’re a tad late. I've just given Lord Robert some Milk of the Poppy by the Lady’s wishes... This whole evening has frayed his nerves quite fiercely. Too many guests. He ah- he won’t be able to hear you.” he said as they passed him into the room.  
  
"But I will hear you quite well my lords, so thank you for coming.” Sandor recognized immediately the beautiful voice that sang out from behind the Maester.  
  
At the back of the room where the sickly Robert Arryn lay in his grand oaken bed, Sansa Stark perched beside him. She was really there. Right in front of him, within his bloody reach. She looked even more beautiful now that he could see her closer. Still in that bloody mockingbird getup, but fucking beautiful. The colour of her dress, the way it contoured her womanly body, and the way her newly darkened hair contrasted perfectly with her ivory skin. Though she truly was different since he’d left her last, and the thought of that made him feel uneasy.  
  
The little bird turned and looked at the brothers collectively. Her piercing eyes and full lips gave them an inviting smile. As if on instinct, Sandor began to walk forward, just wanting to touch her, to make sure she was real. Brother Narbert grabbed his shoulder, and held it firmly. Sandor knew better than to shove him off. Not here. Not now. He wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t one giant dream to begin with.  
  
Her voice brought him back.  
  
“That will be all, Maester Colemon. I shall observe the blessings tonight. You must need sleep.” she said in that politely sweet tone of hers.  
  
“It ah, has been a while. Are you certain? Should I retrieve your father?” the Maester asked clasping his hands around the chain that hung from his long, birdlike neck.  
  
“If you’d like to pull him away from his own festivities and be the cause of one of his dark moods, by all means Maester, call for my father. I would have thought you saw me as capable of tending to mine own step-brother.” her voice was as sweet and courteous as before, with a bit of an edge to it. This was new.  
  
The Maester’s hands moved around in a flustered motion, obviously trying to back-peddle from his previous words.  
  
“Apologies, Lady Alayne, that wasn’t what I was implying. I simply -“  
  
“I understand. You are tired. Good night, Maester Colemon.” she interrupted with a small smile.  
  
The Maester blushed, bowed awkwardly and scurried out of the room. Sandor wanted to chuckle, watching the little bird make a Maester so uncomfortable with simple words. Might be she had changed in more than just looks.  
  
"My lady, if you should permit, Brother Gillam and myself would begin the  process of praying and offering blessings of the seven for the young Robert Arryn, and in the meantime, Brother Hurd would speak with you.” Brother Narbert asked the little bird, his head slightly bowed out of respect.  
  
The girl looked at brother Narbert with caution in her eyes, as her gaze swept over to Sandor. Gooseflesh rose on his arms, knowing he was moments away with being reunited with Sansa Stark. Would she even be happy to see him? Would she call Petyr to take him away? It didn’t matter. He would risk anything to see her again. Even the safety of the other brothers.  
  
Brother Narbert must have sensed her nerves as he began to babble. “If it pleases you, my Lady, of course. Just simple matters of the young Lord’s conditions and what have you. He’s been allowed to speak if that’s what you worry for. Or perhaps it’s his stature you fear? He’s a gentle giant, I assure you, in fact -“  
  
“I shall go with him, thank you brother” she thankfully cut in with that pretty little mouth of hers.  
  
Sandor’s mind began to reel as the nerves rose in his belly and the excitement flared in his chest. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Nothing like killing a man or riding into battle. More frightening with more uncertainty. Was Sansa Stark really under the charade of a Baelish bastard? Or was she now this Alayne Stone through and through?  
  
With a huge body that felt almost weightless, he slowly approached the long lost little bird and offered a shaking hand to her.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Alayne looked reluctantly at the large stranger in front of her, as he offered his hand. She would have been crazy to take it, to go off to speak with a man she didn't know. Alone after nightfall. She wanted to laugh at the preposterousness of this whole damned evening!  
  
As far as she was knew, the Silent Brothers where not permitted to speak regardless of the circumstance. Alayne wasn’t sure why she’d been an exception. But then again, it could have been another part of Petyr's plans to test her. To be a good girl and behave or else. His voice with stern yet playful warnings rang through her head. Alayne bit her lip in quiet contemplation and decided to surrender to the feelings deep in her belly. She took the man's ragged hand.  
  
As she placed her hand politely in his, Alayne was hit was a burning sense of familiarity. The rough feeling of hands she’d felt long ago, when she was a different person entirely. She instinctively went to snap her hand back, but he gripped it harder. An explosion went off in her chest. Her head became dizzy, her legs felt weak, as he lead her down the hall to a separate chamber. He barred the door behind him. Her heart began to pound until it was the only thing she could hear.  
  
Her eyes darted around the room as memories and thoughts rushed to her head. The quarter she was led to was a guest chamber. Crisp, clean, without all the fancy furnishings a noble might receive. There was a small bed with a feather mattress, a chamberpot, a small wooden table furnished with a few beeswax candles and accompanied by a single chair and in the corner, another more comfortable chair closer to the door.  
  
Alayne knew she should be alarmed, frightened even to be led to an empty chamber, but she wasn’t. It was the night of a celebration feast. No one would be slumbering in their own chambers. No one would be looking for her. All she could think of was the onslaught of feelings from the familiar giant of a man. The desire to know more burned in her chest. The nagging of familiarity that was at the tip of her tongue.  
  
Though, if Alayne were to admit to herself, she wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling, it had been too long. She failed to separate fear from this other new emotion. It had been from the touch, whatever that new feeling was. The touch of his hand had sent a shock to her heart, jolting life back into it.  
  
Alayne sat down on the closest chair to her before her knees could finally betray her and give out. She looked up at the man in front of her, his back still turned to her. It seemed as if he was resting his head on the frame.  
  
Alayne collected herself, smoothed the bodice of her gown and squared her shoulders back. She would be strong and brave no matter what inner turmoil she was feeling inside.  
  
"I am understanding that you brothers live a most simple life and do not ask for anything, so I am unsure of what I can offer you?" she asked lightly, afraid to offend.  
  
Silence stretched over them until the brother let out a sharp exhale.  
  
"Who's your father?" his low rough voice asked.  
  
Alayne paused. What kind of game was this? What was her father playing? It was unlike him to engage in games like these with her.  
  
"Do I know you, brother?" she responded.  
  
“Who is your bloody father?!” the man asked again, almost yelling this time, voice raw and sharp.  
  
Alayne cringed away, yet she was certain she was on the cusp of recognizing the man whom the voice belonged to, but it was too distorted, too furious, and more desperate than anything she'd ever heard.  
  
"Why, Lord Petyr Baelish. I am his natural daughter, Alayne Stone" she stated, chin held high.  
  
The man barked a laugh. His back still turned to her, leaning against the door frame, shaking from the terrible and mocking laugh.  
  
“Ah well, I see nothing's changed, has it? The little bird still chirps when she's told. Just a change in the cage and owner." he snarled.  
  
Alayne's eyes widened as she remembered that name. Her name. She immediately recognized the voice. The gruff sincerity of it. She felt the steel hands of nostalgia gripping at her heart.  
  
And then silence.  
  
The man turned cautiously towards her and stayed very still. She looked into those grey eyes and felt like a stupid girl for not recognizing them sooner. Only one man had ever owned those haunting eyes. How could she not have remembered him. Was she really that far gone? Alayne gave a jagged sigh of relief and immediately closed the distance between them. Slowly with her hands shaking she lowered his cowl and tore away his scarf. The scarred side of his lip lifted in a small grim smile.  
  
"This is another dream." Alayne whispered as she delicately went to rest her palm on his ruined cheek.  
  
"No little bird, not this time," he rasped with a waver in his otherwise hard distinct voice, hushed quiet in her ear.  
  
She looked up at that familiar face from long ago, as his hand came up to cover the one she had laid on his face. He was real. Her true knight had returned to her. Alive. After these years. Here. In the Eyrie. After many nights lying awake, regretting not going with him, this was her second chance. And best of all, it was no longer just a hopeless dream.  
  
She took a step back from him, as her world started spinning, emotions and feelings flooding back too quickly. Memories she had dug and buried. Wants and needs, dreams and fantasies, all bubbling back up. Her vision suddenly became spotted and then turned to grey and thick like smoke rising from a fire.  
  
_He came back to me…_ She thought to herself before the darkness swallowed her up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the fluff begin!


	5. Chapter 5

  
Sandor was there just in time to catch the little bird. He was a little rougher with her than he'd hoped to be, than he'd imagined he’d be all those long months on the Quiet Isle. It had been a long while since he’d made physical contact with anything but the damn corpses being dumped into the holes he dug. And with them already being dead and all, being gentle wasn’t essential.  
  
He was stiff and wearisome. The way she could lie to his face like that, eyes that were cold, distant, and dead. Littlefinger, her father? The girl must be down the rabbit hole a lot worse than Sandor thought. Was there anything left of her worth fighting for? She WAS a Baelish now after all.  
   
He had instinctively folded down to the floor with Sansa Stark on his lap when she fell. He looked at her pale face and brushed some unfamiliar yet still beautiful dark hair away from her forehead. She was small. So light in his arms. He re-arranged her dress to cover her in whatever way it could. It made Sandor rage to think of her dressing like a whore being a common thing in her new life.  
  
The inside of his head was in turmoil. What in fucking hell was he supposed to do now? Leave her here with Littlefinger? What if she didn’t want to leave? Bring her back to the Quiet Isle and risk the lives of the brothers? Risk taking her back to a burnt and destroyed Winterfell and try to protect her along the road from himself above everyone else? He didn’t even know this bloody girl anymore.  
  
Sandor felt bad just thinking that way. He struggled on things he didn’t know. Questions he couldn't find answers to. He had been convinced he'd lost the little bird long ago. The night he left the Blackwater. She hadn't gone with him, so he went on his own. Yet, why would she go with him? He had threatened her at knife point. Demanded a song. Cried like a fucking green boy. He had been drunk and in a frenzy over the wildfire, but it didn't hit him until days later what a true shit he had been to leave her behind like that. Terrified and alone.  
  
Just as he was he was digging deeper and deeper into his hatred for himself, his little bird made a light whimpering sound. He looked down at the woman in his lap and watched as her head lightly bobbed back and forth.  
  
"S-Sandor?" she whispered, her eyes still shut.  
  
"Aye girl, you're okay, let me help you up.” he grunted.  
  
Her eyes suddenly popped open as he wrapped his arm around her waist and sat her on the bed. She let out a gasp of ragged breath and stood immediately.  
   
"Pardons, ser. This dress is not meant for feinting it seems..." she said in her polite, musical yet shaky voice. One hand wrapped firmly around the bed post.  
  
"Damn it girl - I've told you before - I'm not a fuckin ser. Is that the only thing that hasn’t changed with you? And look at you in that get-up. You look just like a Lady Baelish, spreading her legs for her Lord. Those sweet ripened teats of yours on display, no doubt at request of your lord. The way that gown, if you can call it that, sticks to every curve and crook of you. He just wants us all to know whose cunt he owns!” Sandor spat as he backed away to lean against the wooden table in the corner.  
  
He suddenly became aware that he’d been a lot nicer in his head. There, the thoughts were more pure and more emotional. But Sandor had never been one for letting them rise to the surface. He knew after he said it that it had been too harsh. But fuck, he didn't like seeing her smothered in Petyr bloody Baelish. This was not the reunion he would allow himself to dream about alone in his drunken stupors.  
  
Sandor watched as the little bird tightened her expression. He was quick to notice she didn’t cringe away from his rough words as she once had many times in King’s Landing. Instead, she delicately released her hold on the bed post, smoothed herself out and strode toward him. She was so close to him he cold smell the rose water from her hair and a faint linger of pine needles. She stared at him dead in the eyes before she slapped him across the face.  
  
_Yep, definitely too far._ He thought to himself as she turned on her heel and headed towards the door. The thought of her leaving hurt more than whatever excuse of a smack that was.  
  
“Please… Girl -"  
  
"Please girl, what? You want to spit more venom at me Sandor? Want to call me a stupid child? Talk to me about who owns my cunt? Please. I'm a woman now. I have grown since you left me at Kings Landing. I am stee-" she began with burning anger.  
  
"Left you?!" Sandor snapped back with a rough laugh.  
  
"Left. Me.” she practically shrieked. “I never saw you again. I was at the mercy of the Lannisters and then Petyr and not once did you return. You were my saviour, Sandor. The only person I trusted. The only person who truly had my best interest at heart. At least, I thought you did. But you know what, _ser_ , you were right, I am a stupid girl for believing that. Believing you'd be back for me.” she sighed as the fire started to simmer.  
  
Sandor watched as her eyes searched his face frantically. It suddenly infuriated him.  
  
“I guess it takes the Imp and Petyr Baelish fucking you dry to realize that life's not all about these knights and flowers..." he gritted his teeth together.  
  
She slapped him again.  
  
And fuck him if he didn't kind of enjoy her fiery passion.  
  
"I'll have you know my maidenhead is intact and my cunt is my own! I will not be the victim anymore. Not with the Lannisters. Not with Petyr. I may be playing this game-" she insinuated looking over her revealing dress and drifting her hand down the side of her hip "but I am playing it well. I don't need these backhanded insults from some drunk I used to wish to come take me away. Now say your peace and get out!” he had never seen her so angry.  
  
So she was a captive of Littlefinger’s now. Out of one cage and into the next. Things all started to make sense, this false disguise of a bastard daughter to Petyr Baelish. Keeping her locked up in the Eyrie with him. She was valuable to him. But what good reason would the little shit have to show her off this way, inviting guests over which could risk exposure? What did Littlefinger have up his sleeves?  
  
Sansa cleared her throat, bringing Sandor back to their standoff. Her last sentence rang through his head. Him take her away?  
  
"Take you away?" He rasped. "Why would you have wanted that? I was always disgusting to you. Always the dog of your beloved. What, was I your bottom of the barrel?" he barked a laughter. “No one else to save you?”  
  
The girl threw her hands up as if admitting defeat. She sighed.  
  
“Oh gods, Sandor. How hard is it for you to imagine someone could actually want you? Yes, I was young in Kings Landing, and very naive, but I discovered that the brave valiant knight I had wanted all along was you. Not some Ser Loras or anyone. You.”  
  
Sandor couldn't grasp the situation. _Are we bloody well fighting? Professing an unrequited love?_ He was nothing now but a frustrated ex-guard hound with issues and he chose to express it the only way he knew how.  
  
"Sorry girl, I'm not interested in a Lion's leftovers." he rasped flatly before putting his cowl back on.  
  
Fuck. He didn’t know why he said it or what he would do now. Hells, he knew he didn’t mean it the moment it slipped from his ragged lips. What the fuck was wrong with him? He had just learned in some way, his little bird had wanted him too, but he was pushing her away. Might be he could silence the screaming in his head by drinking himself to death or take a long look at the often spoke of Moon Door.  
  
Sandor dragged his useless arse towards the door and took a moment of weakness to look back at her. No doubt expecting another death stare. Maybe she’d give him one last punch for the road. Instead, she had crumpled back to the floor. Her dress flowing around her in pools of emerald. A few tendrils of dark hair escaped her fancy up-do and swept down her neck as she looked down on herself.  
  
"You're right. I'm sorry Sandor. I'm sorry for what I've become and what you've had to see. I should never have laid a hand on you… I’m… I’m just as bad as them.” her hand went to her throat. “I suppose I just had a dream built up in my head. Spun kind gestures into something more. I need to remember who I am now and remember the past only as it gives me pleasure. Go now, brother Hurd, I am glad to know you live.”  
  
He watched as she fought to hold back tears, as they welled in those blue eyes and her failed attempt at a smile faltered. The sight damn near broke whatever heart he had left.  
  
It was clear how much shit the girl had been through since he’d last seen her. He’d be stupid to think once she left King’s Landing she was in the clear. Sandor knew what he wanted more than anything. What he’d always wanted since the day he’d first laid eyes on her. He wanted to always be the one to make her feel better. He wanted to be the one she said pretty words to, and mean it. Yet, if he didn’t leave now, he didn’t know if he could ever leave her, and that would be damning her to a life with a rabid dog. For bloody sakes, he didn’t even know how he’d save her anyway. Most likely they’d be the cause of their own destruction. This was a mess. A somehow pleasing mess that would cause nothing but problems. But could he even bring himself to leave? To do what was right? He didn’t even know what was right to begin with.  
  
_Fuck it._ He thought.  
  
With a burst of movement, he walked back up to her, lifted her lightly from the floor so she was standing right in front of him, looking up into his eyes. Gods, was she beautiful. Sandor took a small knife from underneath his robe and brought it between them. He was alarmed that she didn't even flinch. First, Sandor ripped that damn bird pin right off her dress and then proceeded to cut the dress from the seem under her chest to the hem of the skirt until she stood in front of him in her corset and silken undergarments. The green bodice of her dress was pooled at her feet. He briefly swept his eyes over her womanly body as he handed the hilt of the knife over to her.  
  
"This is not who we are, little bird. This is not who we'll be when we’re with each other.”  
  
Sandor watched as the understanding came to her eyes at once and she gripped the dagger tight. She slowly worked at his robe, until it fell split unevenly down the middle and joined her gown on the floor.  
  
A warmth like no other rushed through him as Sansa tossed the knife behind her and took a step closer to him, laying her hands on his bare chest. But it was the little shy smile on her lips that really took his breath away.  
  
In his now constricted breeches, stood Sandor Clegane, not a brother of the Quiet Isle or the Hound of Kings Landing. And now in this moment, he would finally kiss his little bird, who stood tall and proud, as Sansa Stark, not Alayne Stone or Baelish or anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dramatic fluff? Dark fluff? Either way, it had to be done!  
> Coming up next... A spicy reunion? Perhaps some (gasp!) happiness? We will see! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, I'm hoping to get the new chapters out once a week, but I'm already ahead so we shall see :)


	6. Chapter 6

The tension was killing her. Sansa wanted nothing more than to jump into his arms. To kiss him everywhere until they fell to the ground together, but she kept doing this. This standing inches apart and staring profusely with her hands lightly on his chest, afraid to spread fingers and explore. The flesh on her naked arms began to rise.  
  
She knew there was significance to their standing in front of each other, seeing each for who they really are. She could feel the heat coming from his body. And she responded with a tingle bellow her belly. The same tingle she felt when she thought of the night they shared that frightening kiss.  
  
She sighed, thinking about how long she's waited to experience a second kiss from this man. To be held by him, taken my him. She would allow herself to think of such things when she was alone at night in her quiet chamber.  
  
Yet, why hadn’t he kissed her? Why was he paused as if in a daze? It was if he was still fighting an internal struggle of some kind. No matter, this moment would not go to waste.  
  
Slowly Sansa broke the tension and smoothly ran her hands up to his muscled shoulders.  
  
“Please…” she whispered, tightening her grasp.  
  
"Please what, little bird?” Sandor Clegane rasped, his own whisper sending the tingles into a frenzy.  
  
"Please let me show you who you are to me.” she didn’t know how to properly word it, but this was as good as any.  
  
"Only if you do it as Sansa Stark.” he replied gruffly, a little uncomfortable.  
  
Her eyes raised up to meet his as she grabbed his hands and put them on the lacing at the front of her corset.  


  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Sandor knew that it wasn’t a good idea. But there was no bloody way he would let his conscious override something he’d wanted for so long. So long.  
  
His hands shook wildly as he began to undo her corset, he wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement but his usual strong sturdy grip and deft hands had deserted him. He decided he had best go slow lest this be the last night he ever has with his little bird again.  
  
When he finally peeled off the corset, he admired her naked but for her silken undergarments. Her ivory skinned breasts now round and fuller with age, swayed lightly at his touch. He rubbed a thumb over her left breast and lightly over one tight pink nipple. He could feel her shudder and then gasp beneath his touch.  
  
He loved feeling that shudder. And the little gasp that had been caused by him, made his cock strain for release in his breeches. As delicately as possible, Sandor took his right hand and rubbed it over the curve of her other breast. Another sigh escaped from her little mouth. 

A mouth he ached to kiss, to taste and sip from as long as he possibly could. Yet, the fear of the past overtook him. He’d kissed very few women in his past, and only when past his usual level of being in his cups. In King’s Landing, only kisses from redheaded whores would suit him, and he knew why he’d done it. If only to pretend they where the little bird. But it’d never worked. They where always some sloppy excuse of a woman. He shook his head. He was with her now. The real Sansa Stark.  
   
He felt a light push as she took a step back, eyes still gazing into his, and undid the silver clasp of her hair. Sandor watched as a huge cascade of dark hair came tumbling down her back in lush thick waves, encircling her breasts and trickling down her back . He wanted to grab pulls of it in his hands, to take long sniffs, to curl up into the nape of her neck and not let go until she made him.  
  
Sansa surprised him again as she came forward and attempted to pull the tunic over his head. She failed repeatedly due to his height, he stifled a laugh, unwilling to ruin the moment and then he finished the job for her. He watched her bright blue eyes trail over his body, starting from his face, scarred side and not. Down to his chest, over the thick dark chest hair and puckered scarred skin. All he could see was warmth and lust and it made him for the first time feel somewhat good about himself. Now her eyes inched lower and lower towards his cock which was aching to get out. She went to reach for the lacing on his breeches.  
  
He grabbed her hand.  
  
“Have you… Have you done this often girl?” Sandor asked, suddenly angered by her wanton behaviour towards him.  
  
“I told you my maidenhead belongs to me.” her eyes never left his.  
  
“You are a maiden still? After all this time?” he ignored the nonsense of jealousy in his head about her saying no more than that, and looked her up and down appraisingly.  
  
She laughed lightly. “Not if Petyr had his way, but I don’t think that’s part of his master plan. He needs to keep me untouched and in good care.”  
  
The nagging feeling returned to him. For fucks sake, why couldn’t some things be easy.  
  
“Sorry little bird, but I will not be used, not even by you.” Sandor said quietly and slowly began to re-lace his breeches. Who was he kidding, of course he’d let her do whatever she wanted with him.  
  
Sansa scoffed. “You think laying with you is to get at Petyr?” she sighed. “Sandor, take me or not, but stay with me tonight. I have spent too many of nights wishing you were with me. Wishing I had left with you. I only want to show you how much I care for you by gifting you with the only thing I have that is still truly belonging of Sansa Stark, but have me or not, I will not have you leave my side. I have just found you again.” her bright eyes watered.  
  
Sandor’s chest tightened as he fought off the feeling of shame for accusing her, and he let the warmth return even hotter. The fact that anyone admitting such feelings for him, especially his little bird, was everything. He could go to his grave a happy dog no matter what happened on this night.  
  
Finally he smiled a true smile, unhiding from his scars, letting it stretch as far as it wanted. He walked up to her slowly and bent down beside her, one hand lightly brushing her hair back.  
  
“Little bird, for our first time this is going to be slow, I want to take my time with you.”  
  
“Slow." she repeated as if in a daze.  
  
"Good girl.” he whispered as he whisked her up into his arms, feeling her legs instinctively wrap around his waist. She was clearly eager. He still couldn’t believe this was happening.  
  
Sandor rubbed his hands up the sides of her naked body, over the swells of of her breasts, the firm curves of her hips and arse, covered by a thin silken layer of underclothes.  
  
"Little Bird, could I… Could I kiss you now?" he felt like a fool for asking but he felt like something like this required permission. He had told himself long ago he would never take from her.  
  
A smile as genuine as he'd ever seen brightened her face.  
  
"Yes" she breathed.  
  
  
  
***  
  


His lips found hers immediately and Sansa opened hers up feverishly in response. She didn't wait for his tongue to come find hers, but slowly started nipping at his lower lip and sucking his lips and the tip of his tongue. She could hear his groan of approval as their kisses become a wild, passionate act. He ran his large hand through her dark thick hair and she felt his other snake around her waist tighter as he brought her to to the bed.  
  
They fell down together, him on top of her, but the weight felt delicious and Sansa could feel her core getting hotter and hotter, aching to be touched. Sandor continued to kiss her deep, lips fused, tongues entwined and caressing. His right hand slowly drifted down over her full breast as he rolled a tight pink nipple in between his thumb and forefinger. A moan escaped her lips as she bucked in pleasure. Sandor growled in approval and lowered his hand down to her soaking wet silken panties. He took the lacing and tore it off in one fluent motion.  
  
Sandor’s lips left hers almost begrudgingly and she could feel her mouth pulsating and her sex tingling. The ache in her stomach was almost unbearable. She knew immediately she couldn’t stop this. Wouldn’t stop it for anything. It just felt too good and too right.  
  
"I think… Oh!” she breathed as she felt his rough skin against her thighs. She couldn’t concentrate it was so divine. “I think it only fair if we should both be naked…” Sansa said with a smile, eyeing the bulge in his pants.  
  
"Whatever my little bird says." he rasped as he disconnected his mouth from her thighs and stood in front of her.  
  
He undid his breeches with one hard pull. Allowing his manhood to spring free, standing straight, hard and thick, clearly waiting to be touched. Sansa noticed with curiosity the gleam of wetness at the tip. As Sandor shrugged out of his breeches, Sansa couldn’t stop looking at the length and thickness of his member. It was the first she had ever seen up close. Drunken fools always seemed inclined to pull their little ones out. But there had been nothing like this. His made the tingles between her legs worsen and she wanted nothing more than to touch it.  
  
"Do you like what you see there?" Sandor spoke with a genuine laugh.  
  
Sansa's surprised shaped eyes move from his throbbing member to meet his eyes. She felt her face flush with a heat of embarrassment. How long had she been looking?  
  
“Oh, my pardons, Sandor, I've never seen a- well a-... It's very beautiful" she spoke quietly.  
  
Sandor barked out a laughter and came back towards the bed. “Now how’s that for sweet talk?” his smile didn’t waver. She loved how young he looked when he smiled.  
  
He climbed up beside her and stroked a heavy palm over her breasts and stomach. His hands where rough from handling a sword, calloused from years of work and scarred from fighting, but the different textures felt so good against her naked skin. If this was what she’d been waiting for all these years, it was truly worth it.  
  
  
  
*****  
  


Sandor couldn't believe how good it felt just to lay a touch on his little bird. If his cock wasn’t screaming at him, he would have kept her like this for eternity. Untouched. Unsoiled by him or any other. Just feeling his treasure, something he'd been aching for so long made his heart sing. But he couldn't deny the pure lust and desire that was bubbling out of him.  
  
Slowly, Sandor rolled back on top of her while he kept the pressure and weight of him on his forearm, trying not to squash his beautiful little bird. His kisses started trailing from her mouth to her ears and her jawbone. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he loved the whole bloody kissing thing. At least with Sansa. It was natural, and a rush he’d never felt. He moved lower to her collarbone and kissed all along the pale skin of her chest. All while his mouth was busy, his large thick fingers teased at her mound.  
  
"Seven. Bloody. Hells. Girl, you're so wet..." Sandor rasped as he lifted his head lightly from her chest.  
  
"I hope that's okay... I can't help myself," she responded in that innocent, pure voice of hers.  
  
Sandor chuckled and brought his head back down, licking a line from her neck to her breast, nibbling on the way down. He then took two fingers and placed them over her bare, soaking, sex and rubbed gently. He felt the bird jump and groan underneath him, so he put more pressure into it. He hooked them in her opening slightly, to find that special spot. That little flesh of hers that would meet her desires. When his fingers found it, he began rubbing in circles, slow at first and then faster and faster as the yelps and moans of his bird went higher and higher.  
  
He gave her a tiny bit of relief all the while his cock was aching to be buried in her sweet cunt. He took the two fingers and slowly slid them in her entrance and slowly thrusted in and out all while squeezing and nibbling at her breasts.  
  
"Please. Please.” Sansa whimpered as he could feel her wetness soaking through his fingers.  
  
"What are you begging me for, Little Bird?" he asked as he kissed his way back up to the conch of her ear.  
  
"I want to feel you in me. I want you to take me.”  
  
Sandor laughed. Courtesy even with his hand at her cunt.  
  
Sansa lifted his head with her free hand and rested it on his cheek.  
   
"Have me, Sandor.” she spoke sternly.  
  
The fire of lust that was raging in Sandor's belly turned into wildfire as he heard and watched the words pass her lips. He nodded slowly, feeling nerves twist with the longing in his chest. He would be taking her maidenhead. The gift she'd held onto for so long. Was he weak for thinking of this now? To take this precious thing away from his little bird?  
  
As if she was reading his mind, Sansa put her hand in between their bodies so she had a firm grasp on his hard cock. She spread her legs lightly and put the head of his member at her soaking entrance.  
  
"I'm ready," she assured him as she reached up to kiss him deeply.  
  
“It will hurt Sansa. It will hurt a lot.” he half whispered, half moaned.  
  
“I know. I’m counting on that.” she replied. “I need this.”  
  
Sandor paused briefly at her lust for pain yet took this as assurance as he breathed in deeply and slowly slid his hard cock into her waiting sex.  
  
He wanted to pull out immediately when he felt the tear, no matter how good it felt for him. He felt the immediate tension and heard the strained groan escape the little bird. He had hurt her. Before he could move to withdraw himself, she wrapped her legs around him tight. They stayed still for a few moments, eyes locked on each other as the realization of what they’d done set in. And then came a breathtaking smile and a single tear rolling down the side of her face. He put his weight on one forearm and brushed the tear away with his other hand.  
  
She responded by taking her little hand and slowly stroking down the side of his burnt face. “More,” she whispered, another great smile passing her lips.  
  
He kissed her again with a passion he had never known existed and held her like she was the most fragile and important thing in the world. He would take her as gently and as preciously as she deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. 
> 
> Writing a sex scene was harder than I thought. I kept running through it to tidy it up and to make it seem effortless. I feel like I didn't justify it the way I had in my head, and if I can fix it, I will. So I apologize if this chapter seems disjointed. Don't give up on me! :)
> 
> I threw around the idea of them not having sex right away, but since my story involves a lot more things to come (fluff, smut, fun in general, new adventures) I figured it was okay. Also the way I imagined their reunion, they'd be dying to have their hands all over each other. 
> 
> So, no hearts and flowers loss of virginity, but they will make up for that in many other ways! 
> 
> Thanks for reading friends :)


	7. Chapter 7

There was never a time when Sandor would wake up and think of how beautiful the dawn was. The way it lit up the room and sleeping form beside him. Should he risk it and touch her hair that was now sprawled along the pillow in a tangle of untamed glory? This could have been their last night together, his last night on the planet and it would have been just fine with him.  
  
An angry fire inside him had been quelled, at least at the moment. In this moment of being so close, with his bird wrapped in his arms, keeping her safe and warm, he felt like a true hero. Like the person he had always thought was too far gone. Sandor secretly wanted to wake her, he was just so fucking happy. He wanted the opportunity to share this immense happiness with her before it was dashed from them like everything else in life.  
  
Lightly he wrapped his thick fingers around the brown locks and smoothed them back, so he could lightly kiss her forehead. Her eyes flickered open and those piercing blue eyes found his. They looked at each other in content silence for a second, a minute, it could have been eternity.  
  
Finally, Sansa snuggled in closer and let out a sigh of contentment.  
  
“Do things have to go back to how they where?” she finally asked.  
  
“What do you mean, little bird?” he whispered, voice more gravelly than not.  
  
“I mean, me going back to Alayne Stone, and you as this Brother Hurd. Maybe not seeing each other again. I can’t do that Sandor. I just can’t…” her voice broke off.  
  
Sandor sat up in bed and carried her up with him.  
  
“Little bird, none of that will go back to the way it was if you don’t want it to. We will figure a way out of this. You have my word.”  
  
“And a hound will never lie to you.” Sansa said with a smile.  
  
Fuck him, she was adorable. Remembering his words. He squeezed her tighter and kissed her head, while the sense of impending dread started swirling in his gut. She knew as bloody well as he did, the Eyrie was hard break in or out of, it would require a lot of planning and a fuck ton of luck from the gods.   
  
“We won’t be parted. Not again.” he whispered into her hair.  
  
A soft sigh escaped her lips and then she straightened her back and turned to look at him. She was so radiant in this current state of dishevelment. A dishevelment he himself had caused.  
  
“Here. It is still early enough, if everyone was as drunk as they appeared, most will still be in their chambers. Allow me to return fresh garb, and I will work on a plan. Petyr said you brothers would be here for a few days, so that gives us time to meet again and figure this out.” Sansa spoke with a voice that was so full of life again, it made Sandor feel proud.  
  
“It’s too risky, little bird. I will go-“  
  
“In a torn robe where you are sure to be exposed as the Hound, sneak into my chambers, find me a fresh dress and return it here without being caught?” she lifted an eyebrow.  
  
“Fine. But find me again soon or I’ll come after you weather I’m exposed or not!” he growled back, a hint of amusement covering his worry.  
  
Sansa slipped from the bed, but he grabbed her wrist in time, pulled her down, and gave her a long lingering kiss. The heat that spread between them was enough to fuck her all over again, but she was right. The day would begin soon and if they wanted the best opportunity to get out without prying eyes, it would be now.  
  
She laid one last chaste kiss on his cheek, before removing herself from the bed, and slowly attempting to salvage whatever clothing she could. He watched every second of it, like it was a show for only him. He watched lastly as she attempted to secure the torn gown with that mockingbird pin. He followed her to the door.  
  
Smiling at him, Sansa slipped out of the room and Sandor firmly locked the chambers behind her. He rested his head on the door frame.  
  
“Good luck, little bird” he muttered.  
  
Alone, he allowed the thoughts and memories of the night to flood back into him. To overtake him completely. Sandor always thought he would die a lonely man, in an endless blackened night. But now the disturbing revelation came to him that he would put all his strength in his past pain, he would live his life as it was meant to be. With her. For her. All for the little bird, who stole his heart long ago when he was convinced there wasn’t one to steal.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Sansa closed the door and briefly leaned against the cold stone of the corridor ahead. She caught her breath and scurried along, bare foot, towards her chambers. She was lucky, almost too lucky, she thought to herself as she neared her door. Sure she had passed a few people, but most still inebriated from the night before, or busy on their knees with wash buckets and scrub brushes. No one had chanced to look up at the girl with her dark long hair blanketing her face. Her heart raced faster than her feet could manage, but it began to slow down when her door came into view. She held on tightly to her clothed slippers and what remained of her underthings and went to open the door when the sound of footsteps rounding the corner caught her off guard. _Oh gods!_ she thought.  
  
“My lady?” Clara spoke up, rounding the corner with fresh linens.  
  
A slight relief washed over her as she clung her garments to her chest and smiled at the maid.  
  
“My lady, I had just come to rouse you for the day? Is all well? Are you in trouble? Shall I get your father?”  
  
Clara was young, but not younger than Sansa. And she was new to the staff. Perhaps it would work to Sansa’s advantage.  
  
“All is quite well, Clara. I’m embarrassed to say, but I had much more wine than I thought to drink last night. A noble man and his wife offered up their chambers for me before I could become ill. I’m just returning now.” she spoke with a light airy tone.  
  
“Oh my Lady, we had many guests here last night, that could have been very dangerous! Thank goodness you were well taken care of. Should I tell of this fine couple to your father so he might reward them before folks begin departing?” Clara asked as they both entered Sansa’s chambers, Clara heading towards the hearth while Sansa dumped her garments beside the large bed and headed towards her privacy screen where a thick robe laid overtop.  
  
“No need, I will see them myself shortly.” she spoke as she changed. “Though, have Brother Narbert sent here immediately if you would, I wish to speak to him of Sweetrobin.”  
  
“Yes m’lady.” Out she went.

As far as handmaidens went, Clara was definitely the best in Sansa’s records. She always did as asked, promptly, was courteous, never gossiped that she knew of, and was gentle with a brush.  
  
Before Sansa even had time to think of the sweet pain between her legs or the way Sandor had made her feel, there was a knock on her door. Clara entered with Brother Narbert behind her.  
  
“Clara, if you would be so kind to bring something to break my fast, I would much appreciate it. And have three portions sent to the Brother’s room also.”  
  
The handmaiden nodded and excused herself, while the Brother looked as uncomfortable as he most likely felt.  
  
“I’m afraid we have very little time, Brother. I need you to do as I say. You must go to the room in which I’ve left Sandor Clegane.”  
  
Brother Narbert went to interrupt, but Sansa cut him off. This was business, no time for courtesies.  
  
“Brother, you must go to the room which I’ve left Brother _Hurd_ , with an extra robe, and masking. You will take him back to your rooms where you will act like he has been with you the entire evening in whatever prayer or ritual you did for Robert. If you are approached by anyone who is not me, Alayne Stone, you had Brother Hurd with you, do you understand? You may ask Brother Hurd for the truth of his whereabouts, and I support his words. For the safety of you, your brothers, and even myself, you must listen to me, go on with this plan, and wait to be called upon. And… And tell Sandor I will see him soon. No matter what. Please.”  
  
“Of course, my Lady.” Brother Narbert spoke after a minute of quite contemplation. She watched his eyes search her face. “Err… How might one find this chamber? And what should happen if I am caught?”  
  
Sansa smiled at the thought that maybe Sandor had a true friend or two back at the Quiet Island. It was a nice thought until she thought of the potential of causing a rift in that home he began to know.  
  
“Allow me to escort you, brother” Sansa spoke, tightening her thick robe around her and leading Brother Hurd down the hall silently.  
  
She left him at the door, as tempted as she was to go in and see Sandor again before things got even more complicated. She couldn’t risk it. There was much to be done, starting with finding out Petyr’s plans and why the Brothers had been brought here in the first place, a blessing to her or not.  
  
Yes, perhaps her and Sandor had been rash, even reckless the night before. But never had Sansa felt so whole and so complete. All the wars she was fighting, games she was playing, and tears she was hiding, were worth it now. Now she would never go to sleep a stranger to herself. She wasn’t a victim. She would get her happy ending with the man she wanted. 

 _There is no turning back on what you can’t save. What doesn’t need to be saved._ She thought to herself as she raised her chin and walked back to her room, humming for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a smaller chapter to keep the story rolling.  
> I'm really enjoying writing here, and the great feedback, so thank you.  
> I'm considering throwing a few of my other stories on here as well in the future. 
> 
> In case you're interested, you can find me on tumblr, Jawsthemesong, however, to be honest, I'm kind of a dill hole and don't really understand how to use it properly. Just wanted to throw that out there! 
> 
> Thanks again, wonderful people.


	8. Chapter 8

  
He had never felt more disappointed in his life. Not about the night he’d just had, fuckin’ hell, he could die a happy man now, but after, when he opened the door to the chamber he had shared with the little bird, expecting to wrap her in his arms and take her again before they had to start working on the dangerous art of escaping, only to be face to face with old Brother Narbert. _Be still my fucking heart_ thought Sandor as he eyed the brother before pulling him in by the collar of his robes.  
  
“I apologize brother… You seem to be in quite a disarray.” he said with a raised eyebrow, stuffing the bundle of cloth into Sandor’s waiting hands.  
  
“Yeah, well I was expecting someone a lot more comely, that’s for sure.” he muttered while pulling the dun robe over his bare chest.  
  
“What have you done, Sandor?” Narbert asked, accusation and alarm in his voice.  
  
“I found what I was looking for. What the Elder Brother beseeched me over and over to find. My salvation. And you and that brother Gillam are going to help me free us both. Now what did the little - Alayne Stone say to you?” Sandor rasped sitting in the chair, breathing in the scent of the little bird, who he just happened to fuck in this chair at some point in the night. She had liked that one best he thought to himself. Her on top, having control of every move, every feeling.  
  
Brother Narbert scratched his face, clearly worried. Thank the gods he couldn’t read minds or he would have dropped dead right then.  
  
“She told us to do nothing. To remain as it were until further notice. And that, ah, she will see you again. Soon, I suppose.”  
  
Now it was Sandor’s turn to be suspicious.  
  
“She told you to do nothing? You’re sure of this, brother? It’s unholy to lie, you know.” he tapped his fingers on the wooden table.  
  
“I speak the truth, brother. She would have us wait, act along with what Lord Baelish says, and remain silent, as it where. Can you follow your Lady’s instructions?” brother Narbert shot back, never one to like his virtue brought into question.  
  
“Aye, for her I could. Now lets get the fuck out of here before we’re seen.” Sandor said as he wrapped the scarf back around his face and picked up the remains of their evening.  
  
“Ahem…” Brother Narbert nodded towards the bed. Well, it looked like the brother wasn’t as frail and frightened as he appeared.  
  
Sandor nodded, ripping the crimson speckled, blood stained sheets from the bed before tucking them under his robe.  
  
Thank the gods someone was thinking ahead or those marks of passion could have been the very thing to condemn them.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
Sansa sat opposite Petyr’s dark oak chair, that matched perfectly with his desk. His head was down as he scratched at some parchment, deep in concentration. Sansa fiddled with the bodice of her dress, waiting for him to finish his thought. Moments that felt like ages passed until he finally put his feather down, letting it roll against the little ink pot.  
  
“Ah, there. My apologies Alayne, now we can talk.” he smiled.  
  
Forcing a smile, Sansa clasped her hands and nodded at her father. Her nerves were somewhat frayed. She had been called upon by Petyr before she had the opportunity to decide what she would do next as far as her and Sandor were concerned. The longer they went without action, the more dangerous it was for him. She would not risk his life like this.  
  
“What have I done father?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could reel them back in.  
  
Petyr Baelish tutted and looked at her with amusement.  
  
“Now why would you assume you’ve done something wrong, daughter? Unless that is you have something to confess?” he asked, making a steeple with his fingers under his chin, elbows resting on his desk.  
  
And now she forced a laugh.  
  
“Nothing further than perhaps a drink or two more than I should have, father. But nothing you would have been unhappy about, rest assured.” she smiled, thinking of what had actually transpired, careful to control her blush.  
  
Petyr nodded in approval and stroked his beard.  
  
“I am guilty of the same, Alayne. It was a night of celebration. But now comes the action behind it, and thanks to our merciful winter, I was able to allow this all to unfold sooner than expected.”  
  
Sansa leaned in. This was what she was waiting to hear. What Petyr was up to. What this entire farce had been, and his unknown action of reconnecting Sansa with Sandor.  
  
“I don’t have much time to explain now, as I’ve invited some company to join us.” he paused.  
  
“Then do go on, I wait on bated breath.” she replied, knowing he’d enjoy her feistiness, therefor giving her more information. It was how things worked with Petyr. Pleasing him had it’s importance, but Sansa or Alayne, had her limits.  
  
She was right. A chuckle escaped his lips.  
  
“If you have not been paying attention sweet Alayne, I have invited many people here, all which serve different needs to me. Some as witnesses, some as allies, and a few with the power to do more than they are aware of.” he grinned a toothy smile now.  
  
Sansa waited for him to continue.  
  
“Those brother’s of the Quiet Isle, they are much like the brothers on the Wall. Unable, or in the case of the silent brothers, un-wanting to take sides in the outside world and it’s issues. It’s known the word of the Wall has been compromised, so we must now take the word of the Quiet Isle. Are you understanding so far, daughter?”  
  
She was. She understood completely. The Wall had been compromised since her half brother, Jon Snow had taken place as Commander way back. She was not sure of his position now, however.  
  
“You need the approval of the holy brothers for something.”  
  
“Indeed. Most of their visit is a ruse unbeknownst to them to have the brothers attempt to save Robert.” he emphasized the save for what it was, false. “I will first have them confirm the failing health of Robert Arryn is natural and beyond my aid and second, how well I’ve saved, treated and taken care of newly revealed Sansa Stark all this time.”  
  
Sansa gasped lightly as Petyr continued.  
  
“The great Lord Petyr Baelish saves poor parentless Sansa Stark from the death grip of mad Cersei and the Lannisters. A bond greater than no other is formed from his kindness to her and the Starks.”  
  
Petyr stopped, and closed his eyes, clearly revelling in his cleverness of his plan.  
  
“I take it their word isn’t easy to get, father. How long will you keep them here?” Sansa asks, shuddering internally as she watches him lick his lips.  
  
“As long as it takes, sweetling. Days, a fortnight, a year if that’s what it takes. Once I have their seal of my right and proper actions and your identity is confirmed, all we have to do is wait.”  
  
Sansa’s throat tightened and she clenched her jaw together.  
  
“Wait for what?”  
  
Petyr slowly stood up, raising an eyebrow at her. He walked around and put his hands on her shoulders, rubbing, kneading into her, until he bent down and breathed into her ear.  
  
“Why, for your Sweetrobin to die. Then, we will conquer both here and the North, as man and wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter I wanted to get some of Petyr's plans across. I'm sorry if they come off weird or wonky, this is pretty much a AU so if information or things seem weird, that's my excuse and i'm sticking to it:)
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and all have a lovely weekend, I'm still really having fun.


	9. Chapter 9

*** 

  
A crippling sickness went through Sansa as the words ‘man and wife’ sunk through her head. Anything he said after that, had become background noise. This was Petyr’s happy ending he spoke of. Her.  
  
Would he attempt to take her now she knew the plans? How was she supposed to react? Was she Alayne still or Sansa now?  
  
“Father - I mean Petyr - I mean…” she started, baffled.  
  
Petyr smiled and shushed her, placing a icy cold finger over her lips.  
  
“Hush sweetling. We can continue this later, I hear our guests approaching.” he slid back to his chair and Sansa could feel her insides cringing.  
  
He was right, footfalls were more than audible as they made their way towards the door. One set was stomping. _Oh no… Please no…_ Sansa thought to herself.  
  
A polite knock followed.  
  
“Let our guests in please, Alayne dear.” Petyr spoke, raising himself higher in his chair.  
  
She rose, smoothed out her deep green dress and opened the door with a courteous smile, hoping it was simply a noble family for Petyr to work his magic on. Instead she was face to face with the Brothers of the Quiet Isle. They all had scarves covering their faces, and bowed when Sansa opened the door to them.  
  
“Oh, ah, greeting brothers, please do come in.” she spoke.  
  
The speaking brother lowered his cowl and scarf and smiled.  
  
“Thank you child.” he spoke before averting his gaze to Petyr.  
  
Sansa looked up at the hulking third member of the brothers, knowing it was her Sandor. Knowing it was the man who wrapped his arms tightly around her throughout the night, breathing in her scent and whispering sweet words she didn’t know he was capable of. An involuntary flush crept up her chest and rose to her cheeks as she looked at him, yet, he didn’t even pass a gaze at her nor bow to her much like the other two brother’s had. His dark eyes stared towards the floor and then an icy glance swept past her towards the room beyond.  
  
Petyr stood and extended his hands in gratitude.  
  
“Please, sit my brothers!”  
  
They complied, one after the other, sitting in designated chairs around the room. The hearth against one wall was crackling with flame, as this new spring proved a lot colder than thought, though it was said it would continue to get warmer. A fear snaked into Sansa’s mind, one that didn’t have to do with Petyr.  
  
Long ago, Old Nan would speak stories of false springs. Cruel they were, not gifts from the gods but tricks from the Stranger. Folks would use up their stock and wares and celebrate the greatest winter of all time, only to be hit harshly months later with the return of an angry and violent cold. Winter. Not gone, just in hiding, to claim whatever victims it could when it reappeared with a vengence. _Winter is coming…_ Sansa thought to herself. _It will mean the death of us all if we stay up here. I hope I’m wrong._

It was very true. Should it prove to be a false spring, they would have little time and wares to get to the Gates of the Moon, the ideal spot to spend the winter. They had left there earlier, leaving Randa and most of the Royce’s behind. Though the Eyrie was comforting now, it was warm at nights, small enough to hold the heat of the hearths, and did have a small bathing chamber, full of hot pools, it wasn’t anything like the hot springs back at Winterfell. These were hot, yet surrounded in marble, not godswoods. And once the snow froze over the Eyrie, they would be trapped in the worlds tallest ice castle.  
  
Sansa shivered again just thinking about it.  
  
“Are you cold sweetling?” Petyr asked, never one to miss anything.  
  
“I’m fine, father. Can I get you Brother’s anything?” she turned to asked them.  
  
The tall brother, Sandor, turned to Narbert and muffled a whisper into Narbert’s ear. They exchanged long glances.  
  
Narbert all but ignored Sansa, turning to Petyr instead.  
  
“I mean no offense… But might we have private word with you my lord?” he asked.  
  
Sansa raged, what in the hells was Sandor doing? Why wouldn’t he want her there? If he was planning to ambush Petyr right here, this wouldn’t end well. He needed her here.  
  
“Surely I can hear whatever is meant for my-“ she started.  
  
“Daughter mine, go on, you seem cold and distracted anyway. Enjoy your day. I will call upon you later.” Petyr cut in with a smile.  
  
“Father! I should be here.”  
  
“Alayne!” he snapped back.  
  
With that, Sansa stood up, picked up her skirts, and stormed out of the room. If they didn’t want her there, then fine, that was their prerogative. Let them go at each others throats. Let them ruin their plans by themselves. She slammed the chamber doors a little harder than necessarily and stormed off. 

  
  
***  
  
  
Sansa slowly pushed open the strong wooden door of the bathing house, which was located in a large room, situated a level lower than the main floor of the keep. It was made of white marble, vained with darker shades of blues and blacks and it had braziers everywhere. The heat was overwhelming at first entrance, but as she closed the door behind her and saw it empty, she relaxed and began to strip off the stupid green dress she had been wearing and threw it carelessly along with her underthings on the bench closest to the wall. She strode over to the big circled pool and slowly started her descent into the white marbled stairs.  
  
If they didn’t want her in the meeting with them, she was going to relax and clean herself from last night’s potential lapse in judgement. How could Sandor act like that? Not even look at her? And ask her to leave? How dare he! She would be the one with the plan, not the other way around. She was tired of being treated as a child. She was a maiden grown. Well, not even a maiden. A woman grown, who had every right to be there.  
  
Her thoughts from earlier had led her here, and it was not a bad decision. The bathing room had always given her a warm comfort she couldn’t seem to find anywhere else, especially today.  
  
The water was hot on her skin, though not uncomfortable. She began humming to herself as she climbed deeper and deeper until she was at a waist depth. Sansa slowly pulled the pins from her hair, letting the ends of her hair fan into the water around her. She felt the warmth of the water soak her tired bones, soothing the aches and pains and making her feel refreshed and anew. A strong stinging pain from her newly sensitive sex was prominent, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t bare.  
  
Sansa slowly exhaled and dunked her head along with the rest of her under the water, holding her breath as long as she could. When she gave in, she popped up, reemerging to lie on her back, wading and floating as her hair began to flow all around her like a halo of fire. The hot water lapped at her sensitive skin, sending her into a tranquility she didn’t think she would find again.  
  
She continued to hum as she floated, dreaming of a world where she wasn't stuck in the Vale, trapped under the same roof of two watching men. One of whom she wanted to escape, the other of whom her heart would forever belong to.  
  
As if some higher power had not wanted her to be at ease, she was thrown out of her world of fantasies of being taken away when she heard the sound of a rough coughing throat being cleared. Her eyes snapped open and she immediately sunk back deep into the water, very aware that she was fully naked and until one second ago, fully exposed. Even the clear waters of the pool would do nothing for her modesty.  
  
"Do you usually make it so easy for men to see you naked?" Sandor Clegane's harsh voice asked as he turned on his heel and barred the door to the bathing house behind him. Something Sansa realized she had forgotten in her fit of anger.  
  
Sansa looked up and felt relieved, and somewhat shy. Until she remembered she was angry with him. 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Petyr and your meeting of men?” she hissed.  
  
“You didn’t answer my question.” Sandor grunted, clearly trying to look at her eyes and not what was very visible below.  
  
"I wasn't thinking. Though…” she sighed.  “I am glad it was you.” she replied as she waded her way through the pool, trying to leave her angry thoughts behind.  
  
 She sat on a marble bench deep in the water and let the steam waft past over her head. Through it she could see him undressing, his robe and scarves, his jerkin on the floor and working on the laces of his breeches. She closed her eyes as the last piece fell to the floor, if he were to catch her watching, her embarrassment would not be easy to hide.  
  
"Are you now?" he asked with an eyebrow hitched. He slowly stepped down into the pool and groaned as he took a seat across from her. "In truth, Little Bird, I didn't think to find you here, I figured the daughter of the Lord Protector would have her own magnificent accommodations," Sandor barked a laughter.  
  
"Bastard daughter," she snapped back at him "And I can go where I please."  
  
"Within these walls." Sandor replied, hands gesturing towards the huge marble slabs that formed the Eyrie.  
  
“Now you didn’t answer _my_ question. Shouldn’t you be in that meeting? You clearly didn’t want me there for a reason. You didn’t even look at me.” she spoke as she moved her hair around to try and cover her breasts as best as she could.  
  
He knew what she was doing and he laughed.  
  
“I saw that and more last night girl.” he grinned. “I didn’t look at you for that reason. I would not give anything away. But yes, I asked for you to leave, thought we might meet up in your rooms. I was planning to flat out kill the fuckin’ prick, no plan at all, Brother Narbert talked me out of it. That bugger can be wise now and then. He asked I be excused to pray for Robert Arryn, which Littlefucker seemed to love. I looked for you some, but couldn't do much without seeming suspicious, so I came here to bathe. And look who I found.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be with Sweetrobin then?” she asked.  
  
“No, you think your Lord Baelish cares where I am? The fucker just wants to look good is all. No. No seeing a sickly boy. This is much, much better.” he sucked in a breath as his eyes took her in, lingering on her breasts and even lower.  
  
Sansa squinted angrily and splashed a wave of water at him. She giggled as the spray caught him off guard, soaking his face. He rubbed the water from his eyes and pushed his now wet hair back.  
  
"You're in trouble now, girl" he said as he stood and waded over to where she sat with a look of malevolence in his grey eyes. The water dripping down his muscled and toned body that was puckered and scarred. Yet still beautiful. The tingle and warmth came back to her tender sex.  
   
Sansa smirked. "You wouldn't dare. I'd scream and they'd toss you right out that moon door as naked as your nameday!" she replied, feeling a rush of sadness as she said it.  
  
"But you wouldn't scream, unless it was because I was doing something you liked.” he rasped as he closed in on her.  
  
They stood mere inches apart. Staring at each other. Water up to her shoulders, and his waist. The water moved around them and with quick action, Sandor scooped her into his arms and sat on a shallower bench. He moved the wet hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ears and slowly cupped her face.  
  
"I've missed you, little bird" Sandor whispered, almost abashed.

"And I, you… Half a day is much to long in my books.” Sansa replied sliding her index finger down his nose to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably no real bathing house in the Eyrie but I really wanted to get them wet ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	10. Sandor/Sansa

  
  
Sandor kissed her with a hunger he didn’t know was possible for someone who had been beyond satisfied mere hours ago. He supposed it would always be like this, always wanting and always needing his little bird. Her body responded with a similar hunger as she climbed up onto him, her beautiful breasts pressed up against his chest, the warm water lapping around them. Her mouth covered his with lustful kisses that moved from his lips to his jaw, neck and remaining ear. His hard cock pressing against the back of her arse, the way he was forced to rearranged it. Sandor’s hands, that moved through her wet hair, smoothed down her back, underwater, to skim her breasts, hips, and grab her arse hard. She moaned.   
  
“Mmm… A wet Sansa Stark. Can you ask for anything better?” Sandor rasped in her ear, moving his hands up to her neck.   
  
“Then take me again, please. I can’t take it.” she almost whined.  
  
“It will hurt too much little bird, you’ll be very sensitive for a few days.” he spoke, afraid to hurt her for pleasure’s sake. Last night was necessary. Today he would not cause her pain if it was not needed.   
  
“Sandor… I… I need the pain. It helps assure me this is all real.” she said, sucking his neck. The mix of her tongue and the warmth of both the water and her mouth made his eyes roll.   
  
“It’s real, little bird. Very, very…. Real.”   
  
This wasn’t helping him. The water. Their flushed bodies being wrapped up in each other. The way she wanted him. Touched him, regardless if he was a scarred monster or not. The way she stopped and looked at his eyes with a heat and warmth that can only come from a lover’s eyes. A lover.   
  
“You’ll tell me to stop if it hurts too much?” he asked, almost shyly.  
  
She nodded and that was all he needed. Sandor swooped her up in his arms and slowly headed towards the stairs of the pool. As he did so, Sansa ran her hands through his wet black hair, smoothing it away from his face, as if she wanted to see him. His heart began to beat even faster, if that was possible.   
  
Sandor laid her out on the bench, tossing their clothes to the side, so the cool marble bench met her backside.   
  
Sansa let out a little squeal as she registered the cold from the heat of the bath. She laughed, wrapping her arms around Sandor’s neck and pulling him down for more kisses.   
  
He moved from her mouth down to her breasts, taking a puckered pink nipple into his mouth, sucking and squeezing, hearing her cry out. He groaned when he felt the feeling of nails scratching down his back, she was clearly experiencing what he was feeling, and fucking hell, did it feel good.   
  
Unsure of what to do next, not wanting to hurt his little bird despite of what she may now enjoy, Sandor pulled away and looked down at Sansa’s wet, naked form. Gods she was perfect. The way her ivory skin glistened with both sweat and water. The steam rising around them, as if creating a secret screen from the outside world. 

Suddenly, Sandor hissed out in both surprise and pleasure as Sansa grabbed his cock and lined it up against her opening.   
  
“I really don’t want to hurt you little bird, we can wait.” 

“No waiting. Not anymore. I’m tired of waiting.” she responded and ended with a moan as she rubbed the head of his cock up against her sex. Back and forth, back and forth.   
  
Oh gods, she was so fucking wet. So beautiful and so willing to take him into her again. Let him fill her over and over. The way she touched him showed no hesitance, no second thoughts so he slowly buried himself deep inside her, a growl of pleasure escaping him and a stifled gasp and then a sigh slipping from her lips.  
  
Slowly they moved together in a dance of pleasure. In and out, sliding, feeling every good thing until their breathing hitched, the little bird moving faster, as if not being able to get enough of him. Sandor lost his head. He grabbed her underneath her arse while still inside her, springing her up, the little bird wrapping her legs tight around him, letting his cock nestle even deeper within her.   
  
Their fucking began to take a frantic turn as he took her up against the cold marble walls of the bath house. Her hands in his hair, her breasts bouncing with every hard thrust.   
  
“I’m… I’m going to…” the little bird struggled with her words, moaning and whimpering in between.  
  
“Good girl. Sing for me.” he whispered into her ear, sending her over the top as she sang aloud in pure pleasure. A better sound, he’d never heard.   
  
He continued sliding in and out only less hard, as she rode the waves of ecstasy. When she finished, her hair was all in a tangle, but her frenzied eyes still hot with lust looked at Sandor.   
  
“You’re turn.” she said into his ear, licking his lobe.   
  
Sandor moaned in pure delight, as he sunk his member deep into her warm waiting flesh once more. He began to thrust harder and harder, each thrust better than the last, until finally he couldn’t take it, and he filled her up with his seed as he held her tight to the wall, kissing her deep and passionately.   
  
When he finally released his cock from her sex, they where both panting. They looked at each other before Sansa put her forehead to his and breathed in.   
  
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of that. With you.” she whispered, her face pink and coated in sweat.   
  
Sandor barked a laughter. She was the sweetest little thing he’d ever seen.   
  
“Let’s clean you up” he laughed, hauling her over his shoulder and bringing her back into the warm pool where the heat would soothe their bodies and help calm their pounding hearts. 

Once again, Sandor sat on a submerged bench, never releasing his bird, but moving his member around so she wouldn’t have to feel it at the current moment. He held her in his arms and swayed her back and forth through the water, letting it release the tension and soak her clean. He watched her beautiful body as it slowly began to relax, her long hair trailing behind her in waves of reddish brown.   
  
He knew he was being a fucking idiot. He shouldn't have had her leave Baelish’s meeting. He shouldn’t have left himself, yet, he craved her, needed her more than he’d ever needed anything, ale and killing included. They should of stayed and listen to the fucker talk. Find out what that bastard wanted, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted her alone.

A guilty pang hit him square in the chest. His actions were putting his little bird in danger. Because he couldn’t help himself, they were sneaking around in a small castle with many eyes. 

And look at their past. His promises were broken before they were even made. He’d keep her _safe_. He’d told her that. Did he? No, he threatened her and left her to the wildfire and scheming snakes. What the fuck had he been thinking. She deserved so much more than him. Sure, he was true when he lamented he’d kill anyone who touched her, but she could only be protected for as long as he lived. And if he was discovered as the Hound, he would be a walking target.   
  
As if reading his mind, Sansa looked at him, putting her hands on either side of his face. His scarred side. Her eyes were soft, filled with something hadn’t seen in a long time.  
  
“Sandor, whatever you’re thinking, we will get through it. Together.” she tucked a lock of wet hair behind his good ear.   
  
He grunted and watched the water ripple against the marble.  
  
“Look at me, Sandor. Look at me.” she spoke sternly, echoing words from the past.   
  
His eyes met hers again, and she smiled and kissed him.   
  
“We will get through this. I know we will because I won’t allow it any other way.” she laughed lightly, kissing his forehead.   
  
She was so bloody precious.

Fuck the Hound. He wasn’t him anymore. He had no tears, no immobilizing pain left for the life he’d led. Regrets, there were a few, fears only two. But he wouldn’t let the past rule his life anymore.   
  
He sighed, releasing the negative energy and wrapping his arms tighter around his little bird.   
  
“Sansa, I… I don’t know how to act- properly about this.” he rasped, wrapping the wet ends of her hair around his thick fingers.   
  
“About what, Sandor?” she asked, clearly alarmed at his use of her name.  
  
“I can’t let you out of my sight without this fucking sickness. This worry. I don’t trust anyone in this bloody castle. If I’m not with you, how can I protect you?” he made a fist so tight his knuckles cracked.   
  
A sympathetic smile crawled across her face, it pissed him off and soothed him at the same time.   
  
“Let me protect us. I know Petyr and I know the castle. For once let someone else take care of you Sandor. At least until we’re free, then you may take over.” the little bird sighed.  
  
“As you say. But I don’t like this, being away from you, knowing you’re so close.”   
  
“Soon we will never have to be parted again.” she squeezed his hand with her own tiny one. “Please, put your trust in me.”   
  
“Always.” he squeezed back.   
  
  
  
***  
  
  
Sansa let out a shaky breath of relief, sitting in her chair by the hearth, allowing the heat to dry her long locks. She had sent her maid on her way when she returned from the bath house, and began slowly brushing her own hair, while thinking about her time with Sandor.   
  
Never did Sansa believe she would be in the position she was. Going from wanting to leave the Eyrie alone, an untouched maiden with a horrid past, to leaving with someone she, well… Loved? It was something she only saw in her dreams.   
  
Was that what this was? Love? Had it been all along? No. She thought. Not at the beginning. But perhaps that was how love was. A flower that took time to bloom into something beautiful.   
  
Gods as tender as she was, she missed Sandor’s embrace. Missed his smell, his taste, his -   
  
KNOCK KNOCK   
  
The sound of a pounding on her chamber door could only be Sandor’s heavy hand. Why had he chosen now to come? They had just spoken of their need for caution and secrecy.   
  
Sansa jumped up from her bed, leaving her robe over her chair, he had in fact seen her in a lot less. The thought sent shivers of pleasure up and down her body.   
  
She threw open the door, and found Petyr standing there in front of her with a look of anger on his face that was distracted momentarily by a over revealed Sansa. She swallowed. Hard.   
  
“Father, excuse me. Let me get my robe. I wasn’t expecting company. “   
  
Petyr ghosted into the room, shutting the door behind him.  
  
For once, he let her go, nodding.  
  
“It looks like we have something to talk about, you and I.” he spoke, all traces of amusement gone from his tone.  
  
“Do we?” she lifted her chin, feeling no better to be covered.  
  
“It appears a nasty rumour as began circulating… One that might damage not only our plans, but our relationship, sweetling.” he answered, taking her hand in his.   
  
Her heart was heavy, her head was sick. She wanted to scream at the top of her voice. Was Sandor right? Did she need him to protect her? No. She had been alone for years now, she would do whatever it took to keep Sandor safe, say whatever she had to keep them together.  
  
“Tell me, Sansa, what would you do to prove you are still a maiden?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. 
> 
> A couple things! 
> 
> 1 - Writing smut is kind of hard for me. I can *easily* visualize it, haha, but writing about it is another thing. I hope it comes across as sexy as it played out in my head. 
> 
> 2- Sorry for delays! I suffer from terrible insomnia so my brain feels like a fuzzy mess, and also I'm moving in a months time so I'm frazzled but will continue to try and keep the pace reasonable. 
> 
> 3- If my writing style seems different, I totally blame my stupid tired head, and will continue to improve, so bare with me my friends! 
> 
> Thanks for reading. I'm excited for the next couple chapters! FUN!!!


	11. Sansa/Sandor

  
Breathe. _Breathe_! Sansa thought to herself. She had to calm down or she might as well confess right then. There had never been a bigger panic in her life. Not when she was lost in Wintertown as a young girl, not even when she was mentally and even physically tortured in King’s Landing. Sansa felt the horrid drop of her stomach as Petyr uttered his words. She could not prove she was a maiden, for that ship had sailed the night before.   
  
Thinking fast on her feet, Sansa knit her brows together, and looked at Petyr with an air of confusion.  
  
“What are you saying, father?” she knew he loved to hear her call him that.  
  
Sure enough, he smiled.   
  
“What i’m speaking of, dear girl, is word spreads of the small remains of a blood stained sheet being recovered in a hearth in the common room. Granted no one saw who burned it, or who it belonged too, but you understand I must be careful and make sure Sansa Stark is still a maiden before she is wed, but more importantly, for her well being of course.”   
  
She hated the way he spoke of her as if she wasn’t there. As if he actually cared for her well being. He wanted the North and as Sandor would say, her cunt. He would not have either as long as she lived.   
  
“I’m offended you would accuse me at all, father. I can promise you I am well and have not done anything to forsake you or our plans.” she kept her eyes trained on him, never faltering.   
  
“As your late mother would say, words are wind, Sweetling. And what if someone were to have taken advantage of my daughter? I will not allow that.” he spoke as his grin faded.  
  
Sansa immediately felt the bile rise in her throat. Petyr Baelish speaking of her mother in any sense made her ill. This man who had sickly obsessed over Lady Catelyn his entire life had no reason to speak to her daughter about her. Especially after he knew how hard her death had been on Sansa. He was well aware of her spending many a night in tears over her. Even the death of her Aunt Lysa, who had gone positively mad, had taken it’s toll. She heard stories too. Bad stories of Petyr’s obsession. How dare he speak of a Tully at all.  
  
She swallowed hard and held back the venom she wished to spit at him. “What would you have me do?”   
  
“I’d have you inspected by Maester Colemon, of course. I would trust Ser Lothor’s word more… However, I think he would enjoy the task too much.” he laughed.  
  
A chill prickled its way down her spine.   
  
“As you say, father.” she shook her head in defeat.  
  
“Good, I will have it arranged as soon as possible, tomorrow or the next, then perhaps with his good news, I can have the brothers confirm your well being, allowing us one step closer.”   
  
Sansa only nodded in reply.  
  
Petyr tutted and came up and took her into his arms.   
  
“Do not be angry, sweet girl. I do what I must. I’m sure it’s simply one of the handmaids being broken in, but I will cover all my basis to be sure.” he pet her hair as she grit her teeth.  
  
“Yes, my Lord. Allow me your leave to go see Sweetrobin?” she asked, the urgency to find Sandor and break down was so high and she needed an out.   
  
“Of course, of course. Go now, I’ll speak more of this on the morrow.” he kissed her brow and left in a hurry.   
  
_No doubt to plot how to continue to destroy everything…_ thought Sansa.  
  
  
***  
  
  
She came to their room in tears. The proof of which was streaked down her beautiful face. She startled them all when she burst through the door, and his gut reaction told him to shield her from the others until she had shed her sorrow. When the little bird finally spent all she could, she stepped from his arms and looked at the other two brothers and told them all to sit.   
  
Then came the rage. Blind fiery rage seeped through him as she spoke of Petyr’s words. A rage he’d only felt once before, when he thought of his real brother, Gregor. His hands shook and he ground his teeth as she finished, and then, a silence filled the room.  
  
Sandor stood and began to pace.   
  
“Well, that settles it. We kill him. I’ll kill him. Take him out right here, right now. And then we get the fuck out of here.” he snarled.  
  
“Now let us not be so hasty, brother. That could pose more danger than benefit.” Narbert spoke and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to stifle an ache or thought.  
  
“Perhaps you’d best leave. Come up with a reason you must depart for your home. Give Petyr what he wants and go. I do not wish to put any of you into trouble.” Sansa’s words were no longer shaky and panicked.   
  
“No.” Sandor practically cut her off. “No. Not an option, little bird.”   
  
Another stretch of silence loomed over them. There was no way to reverse what they had done, and when Petyr had a plan, he sought it through. Did he truly know? Was this part of his sick game?  
  
Sandor made a fist and smashed his hand into the table. Feeling helpless was worse than feeling like a monster. Yet, Narbert was right. They couldn’t kill Petyr, and be guaranteed to make it out alive. And no one could simply sneak out of the Eyrie unnoticed. It was nearly impossible.  
  
“Might I… Might I offer a- suggestion?” they all looked at brother Gillam, who until now, hadn’t uttered a word.   
  
“Please.” Sansa replied, looking at him curiously.   
  
“I must offer this suggestion without the threat of being harmed for suggesting it. It’s simply an idea, nothing more.” he eyed Sandor.   
  
In reply, Sandor growled. He really didn’t like where this was going.   
  
“Go. On.” Sandor replied, balling his hands into fists on his lap.   
  
“Well, the lady says that Lord Baelish wants to check her for her um, for her ah- maidenhead. Yet, since none of us are preforming this check, it will come out that she is indeed… De-flowered. However, should Lord Baelish think that he himself is responsible for her loss of virtue, there is nothing he can do. As well as it may cause a rift in his mind, guilt or perhaps even turmoil at causing an issue with his own plan.” his voice was quiet and calm.   
  
Sandor flew up from his chair and rounded Gillam.  
  
“Are you suggesting she fuck Littlefinger? Are you suggesting she’s a common whore?” he roared.   
  
“Sandor, please, sit.” Sansa came and touched his shoulder. It was as if she understood something that he clearly didn’t.   
  
He grunted and returned to his seat, begrudgingly.   
  
“Go on, brother Gillam…” the little bird smiled at him reassuringly.   
  
Brother Gillam sighed in relief, and continued.   
  
“W-what I wanted to finish with is what action we should take. Have Lord Baelish drugged with a pinch of sweetsleep, which could easily be taken from the maester who seems to be heavy handed with it as it is. Have lady Sansa wake up confused and alarmed next to him, convincing him that they had been together during his ‘drunken behaviour’.”   
  
The three of them seemed to chew on the brother’s suggestion, no words exchanged.   
  
It was Sandor again who broke the silence.   
  
“And how do we know he won’t simply touch her again since he’s the one who took her gift?”   
  
He was pissed. Upset. He had been given the honour of her maidenhead. He did not like the idea of Petyr having it in name or otherwise. The whole situation sickened him and infuriated him. The fact he could manage his violence right now, showed a huge improvement in his self control.   
  
“I will come to the door with a concern for Robert Arryn. I will interrupt any further action.” brother Narbert spoke up, clearly on board with the idea.   
  
Sandor cursed.   
  
“Littlefinger isn’t dense. It is awfully suspicious he should take her maidenhead around the same time he accuses her of not having it. Too risky.” he spat.  
  
Sansa’s eyes went blank and she stared off, thinking.   
  
“It doesn't matter.” she said quietly. “Even if he were to suspect something, he has no proof. It might even please him…”   
  
“Incase anyone cares, I think this is fucking terrible. Another shitty farce.” Sandor exploded.   
  
Brother Narbert instantly rose and gave Sandor a cup and poured him some watered wine.   
  
“This is difficult for you, but more so for Lady Sansa. If she thinks this might work, don’t you think you owe it to her to place your trust in her, brother?”   
  
Sansa nodded approvingly and looked over at Sandor. They locked eyes briefly and he finally admitted his defeat.  
  
“If my lady approves, then I will go along with this. Though I don’t like it. Not one bit.” Sandor spoke, eyes trained on the little bird.   
  
“It’s the best idea we have. I would do what I have to, in order to keep you safe.” she approached him and grabbed his hand.   
  
Sandor sighed and laced his fingers with hers.   
  
“Alright, Gillam. Since this is your grand idea, you better start planning. I want this foolproof and safe for the little bird. She is not to be in any harms way. Not even a risk of it.”   
  
They spoke for some time before walking together, Sansa in the front and the brothers silently trailing, on their way to see a sleeping Robert Arryn and his thin, nervous wreck of a maester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is turning out to be more dramatic and soap opera-ish than I'd liked it to be, but hopefully some of you are enjoying this silly read. I get such a happy thrill from writing it, so thanks for taking the journey with me. 
> 
> As always thanks for reading :) More to come before I take a small hiatus to move/take my kiddo to Disney world.


	12. Sandor/Sansa

This was a bad idea. And he didn’t like it one fuckin’ bit. Too many chances for something to go wrong, too much room for error.  
  
Sandor felt an odd sense of both fear and pride as he watched the little bird take on the maester with an air of confidence he’d never seen before. The strange sense of satisfaction was sickening. He had seen her stripped and beaten in King’s Landing, causing her to hide her eyes and keep her mouth shut as often as possible, and he hated it. Now there was a confidence that bloomed and stunned. The fear though, the dismay that Littlefinger’s roots had dug too deep into her, taking hold of the little bird’s character and self. It was a bittersweet feeling, one that confused and shook him.   
  
He watched as the words rolled off her tongue, so polite, so clear and true. Oh, silly old maester Colemon! Have a rest. She would administer the pinch of sweetsleep. What was the harm? She had given him milk of the poppy before, and she loved her Sweetrobin. Why not trust her? After a small reluctance on the maester’s part, he gave her the little vial, sighed as he checked Robert Arryn’s face and pulse, and bid farewell to the Lady Alayne and the brother’s who appeared to be deep in prayer.  
  
This part had gone smoothly, though Sandor didn’t expect any troubles with a pushover of a maester like Colemon. It also wasn’t the part that worried him. It was the part when the woman he couldn’t live without, got her arse in bed with anyone, let alone a snake like Petyr. Even though she had promised no harm would come to her, his stomach was a pit of despair. Yet he kept himself in control, for in the long run, this would all be worth it. He was certain the inner turmoil would not leave him until him and the little bird were somewhere safe. What was bloody safe these days?  
  
As Colemon left the room and closed the door with a timid click, Sansa rose and approached the brothers.  
  
“It’s done.” she held the vial in front of her.  
  
Sandor grunted while brother Narbert nodded his head in approval.  
  
“Good, very good. Shall we continue with this second part?”  
  
The little bird looked at Sandor for a moment, and then the other brothers. His heart stopped when their eyes met.  
  
 _She is not truly laying with him. She is not fucking him._ Those words became a mantra in his head.  
  
“Yes.” she whispered. She cleared her throat.  
  
“Yes” a little louder. “I will leave and return to my chambers. You will request the presence of the Lord of the Vale, stating urgent matters. He will come. Once he is aware and finished with your matter, I will meet him in his solar at which point the sweetsleep will be in his cup. You know the rest, don’t you?” she asked. It was clear she didn’t want to discuss the rest of the evening.  
  
“Indeed.” Narbert replied curtly.  
  
The little bird let out a heavy sigh.  
  
“We are ready then?” she asked, slipping the vial into the long sash of her gown.  
  
“No.” muttered Sandor.  
  
“Yes.” replied Narbert, Gillam nodding along.  
  
Sansa looked at Sandor longingly, his urge to touch her so great, he fought to keep his hands by his side. He lost the battle when she flung herself into him and held on tight. He then surrendered and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the beautiful scent of her hair.  
  
“Be safe.” he whispered.  
  
“Always.” she replied before leaving the room.  
  
And just like that, the briefest moment of peace and happiness was gone. Shut out and walking down the halls towards what could be peril.  
  
—-  
  
“So you asked to see me brothers, and here I am. What might I do for you?” Littlefinger asked, with a false air of importance.  
  
It enraged Sandor. The man hadn’t changed a bit.  
  
“You had requested our approval on the well-being of the young Robert Arryn. We have prayed on this, and find that we will document your good intentions and constant aid of him during his time of need.” Narbert spoke as he folded his hands into his lap.  
  
This was the first time Sandor had seen Littlefucker look genuinely surprised.  
  
“Is that so? That is wonderful news brothers, do not mistake my curiosity for ingratitude, but what has swayed you to this decision so soon?” he asked, creating a steeple with his fingers in front of his face.  
  
“Though it is true, the boys health fades, he is never alone. Your maester takes great care of him, and his sister, the Lady Alayne, is constantly praying for him and at his side. It is clear he is in the best place possible for a boy with such a sickness.” Narbert replied.  
  
Petyr smiled and nodded with an air of arrogance.  
  
“And do you long to return home to your isle so soon? I would like it if you would stay longer and get to know my family.”  
  
Get to know his family. What a load of shit. All he wanted to was continue on with his plan, announce Sansa Stark safe in the Vale. Have them there to confirm that too. Sandor hated playing this game, hated the lies that began to overlap each other, yet what else could be done? He needed to get the bird out safely. There was no other option.  
  
“We will stay as long as we’re welcomed, my Lord.” Narbert replied, Gillam once again bobbing his head along.  
  
“Wonderful! Wonderful. Come see in my solar this evening and I will have the parchment drawn up. You do me a great favour my brothers. You have my thanks.” Baelish grinned and left the room in a hurry, his robes swishing behind him.  
  
Sandor cracked his knuckles and grit his teeth. If only he had some sour red to knock him out for the hard evening ahead.  
  
***  
  
He walked around the room as if in a drunken haze, yet she knew he was simply on a high from his plans coming together. She hadn’t had the chance to give him his designated cup yet. There had been no offer of drink, just business. Sandor and the brothers had left in an awkward shuffle, all eyes on Sansa. She would do this herself, she was adaptable and clever.  
  
His eyes burned with both power and lust, a combination she had seen before, yet never so intense.  
  
Petyr turned to her, scroll in one hand, quill in the other.  
  
“They’ve done it, sweet Alayne! They’ve signed away Robert’s life. It’s almost done, then we can send them on their way!” he smiled.  
  
Alayne copied his eager smile.  
  
“How wonderful, father. It shouldn’t take them long to see how well you’ve taken care of me.” she approached him.  
  
He met her halfway and took her into his arms.  
  
Sansa’s stomach churned and hurt. It wasn’t Sandor’s arms. She felt wrong and angry with herself. She would get this over with, now.  
  
“My father, the most clever of them all.” she whispered before breaking apart to grab the cups. Without word she filled the chalices. The one holding the powder closest to Petyr.  
  
 _Please let this work._  
  
Her eyes telling nothing, she took the two cups and gave the laced one to Petyr. He took it without second thought, still wrapped up in his own brilliance.  
  
“To the brothers of the Quiet Isle!” Petyr raised the cup to his lips with a huge grin, and drank his fill in one large gulp.  
  
Sansa felt her heart sink to her belly and then to the floor. The arrangement was surprisingly working out easily enough so far, but it was all wrong. This was not who she was, who she wanted to be. This was so wrong. She emptied her cup with a matching swallow.  
  
Petyr came to her again. This time, his smile was sloppy and he staggered. It was alarming how fast the poison worked.  
  
“S-Ssansa my love, how wonderful it will be to fix this…” he grabbed a lock of her hair. “…to look just like your mother.”  
  
Those words sent a chill down her spine. She forced a smile.  
  
“Come with me, my Lord.” she simply replied, beckoning him and then walking through his solar into his chambers.  
  
Her heartbeat quickened. Without looking back she began to undress. Shaking head to toe, memories of a similar event back in King’s Landing flooded back. Yet somehow this feels worse.

  
 _You can do this._ She tells herself. _You are and will always be a wolf._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay, October has been a busy month! 
> 
> My move in day has been changed, so I'm frantically packing while also preparing for my Disneyworld adventure! 
> 
> I hope you are enjoying my mini soap opera, I'm trying hard to write a little less cheesily but it's not working out according to plan. I am so aware this is not a fan fiction work of art like some of the beautiful SanSan pieces, so consider this the fast food fries in between your filet mignon! (I hope that makes sense, I'm a tad sleep deprived..)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, I don't think I will be updating until Nov 1 at the earliest, however the next update will be beefy and hopefully satisfying. (What is with all my food references!)


	13. Sansa/Sandor

  
The first light was bright through the gauzy curtains of Petyr’s chambers. Not knowing how, Sansa managed to fall asleep, and as the light touched her face, she slowly woke up. The panic reached her straight away when she realized the arm curled around her, holding her close. It wasn’t Sandor like she had dreamt, but Petyr. Now the true struggle was going to take place, pretending all of this had happened, was real. Sansa wanted nothing more than to be curled up in bed with Sandor, feeling safe inside his huge arms. Instead, Petyr had snaked his arms around her waist and had his face nestled in her hair.   
  
She laid in bed, silent and still as could be, rethinking the plan in her head, over and over again. This would work she kept assuring herself. Sansa listened to Petyr’s breathing, each breath closer to him waking, causing her heart to pound faster and harder.   
  
Sansa jumped when she felt his hands skim over her body.   
  
“What…?” he yawned as his fingers continued to travel, sleepily. Then, the connections became known in his head and Petyr sat up quickly.   
  
“What has happened Alayne?” his voice shocked with an edge of excitement.  
  
“I… I do not know father. I woke up shortly ago, only I was…”   
  
“You where what?” he cut in.   
  
“I was naked. I just clothed myself now.” she finished.  
  
Petyr arched an eyebrow as he looked around, then down to his unlaced breeches that he himself had attempted to do the evening before, when the sweetsleep was taking effect. Sansa thanked the gods she didn’t have to get that close to him.   
  
Though his plans had just gone out the window, turned into nothing usable, where any sane man should frown and be angered he would have to find a new way to rule the world, Petyr Baelish smiled. No, he grinned, a grin that stretched out over his whole face and reached his eyes. He looked almost childish as his eyes gleamed. He took Sansa into his arms once more.   
  
“Well, maidenhead or not yesterday, you certainly are no maiden today.” he said, stroking her hair. It angered her to see how proud he was of this fact, like he had been awarded a trophy. Sansa kept silent, heart continuing to pound uncontrollably. She wished the Brother would arrive soon.   
  
“Must I still be your daughter, Lord Baelish? Might we reveal my true identity now that I cannot be married off so easily?” she trembled, wishing this would end. She hoped as Sansa Stark, the people of the Vale and the North would rather stand behind a Stark than Petyr Baelish.   
  
“Plans will have to be changed, that is certain. But for now you will continue as Alayne Stone. But fret not sweetling, soon we will reveal your identity and you and I will wed out of the love you bear for me. We will rule the north together. You will never grasp what you have gifted me with last night. If only I had remembered, we must have drunk our share of wine.” he let his fingers trail from her hair down her back.   
  
“We had more than our fair share, my Lord. We were celebrating our progression.” she replied quickly before slowing down her speech. “Forgive me if have made the plan more challenging…” she lowered her eyes before he could read them as he often did.   
  
“Oh no, Sansa. You have given me what I’ve always wanted. It is certain I must approach the strategy with a new set of eyes, but I would do it a thousand times over if it meant this.” he leaned in and took her in his arms.   
  
Sansa froze as he wrapped his arms tight around her and placed his mouth on hers. He kissed her with a hungry passion. She could not kiss him back, she simply stood there in continued shock, reminding herself what all of this was for. _This is the first and last time_ she told herself.   
  
“Mmm” Petyr moaned as he released her and leaned back in the bed. “Come to me, Sansa. It is still early.”   
  
She kept the pain away from his vision. She didn’t want to ruin anything. With a quick inhale, Sansa slowly crawled to him. In her heart she knew she would stop before this went to far, destroying the plans or not. Never would she do this to Sandor or to herself.   
  
As she gripped the bed sheets, the expected knock on the door stopped her. A huge sense of relief released itself from Sansa’s chest.   
  
“Alayne, tidy yourself and get the door for your father, please. And stay silent.” Petyr rose quickly from the bed, tightening his breeches and arranging his shirt.   
  
Sansa smoothed out her gown and hair and slowly walked to the door, hoping it would be the Brother. Sure enough, when she opened the door, Brother Narbert was looking down at her.   
  
“I hadn’t expected to see you here so early, Lady Alayne.” he said with a soft voice.   
  
Alayne lowered her eyes, ashamed of what didn’t even happen the night before.  
  
“Sleep wouldn’t come to me, Brother. I sought out my father, but I will take my leave now, thank you.” she spoke curtly and turned to Petyr. “With your leave?”   
  
Petyr grinned again, as if he thought they had a little secret between them. If only he knew the real truth.   
  
“I will see you at supper, Sweetling.” he spoke happily.   
  
Sansa nodded and left as quick as her legs would take her. She would bathe and scrub herself pink before she was to see her beloved.   
  
  
***  
  
Sandor had never had a rougher night. He could not think and his body ached. He didn’t have the relief  of the wine to help soothe his nerves, so he felt every emotion by the end of the night.   
  
He wouldn’t dwell on what had happened, he had spent too much time on that. Grinding his teeth and snapping at anyone who bothered to talk to him. Now, he had reached a low of despair and worry instead of the anger he was used to feeling. Would she be okay? Did he touch her? The thought of Baelish holding his little bird made him sick.  
  
How long had past since the morning sun rose? When was it acceptable to see her? They hadn’t discussed this part.  
  
Brother Gillam sat in the chair beside him, head back, snoring so loud Sandor wondered if they could hear him up at the Wall, and Brother Narbert had been gone for quite some time.   
  
Fuck it. Sandor would go to her.  
  
One eerily quiet walk later, Sandor arrived at Sansa’s door, garbed as a Brother. He knocked twice swiftly before sliding into the room himself. He locked it behind him, he would not make another dangerous mistake. Sandor turned around and hit a wall of steam. When it cleared somewhat, he saw one of the most beautiful things he’d ever witnessed.   
  
Sansa Stark laid in the bath, eyes closed, mouth slightly opened. Her long hair trickled over her shoulders and sides of her breasts, the tips soaking in the water. She was calm and relaxed, her perfect chest rising and falling with each breath. He looked in awe at the way her unmarred pale skin glistened in the water. Sandor knew this was an invasion of privacy but he had to burn this image in his head so he would have it forever.   
  
Unable to control himself, Sandor walked towards her. The sound of his coming footsteps must have alarmed her, she opened her eyes suddenly, about to jump until she saw it was Sandor, and she relaxed once more.   
  
“Sandor, I..”   
  
He cut her off by dunking his arms in the water and picking her up out of the bath and holding her to his chest, soaking himself in the process.   
  
She went to speak again but he cut her off by placing his mouth over hers, kissing her with a fierce passion and a desperation he didn’t know was in him. He felt her respond, placing her arms around his neck and spreading her fingers through his hair and pressing herself tight to his body.   
  
“I’m so sorry for all this, Sandor. I truly…” she broke away from his mouth.  
  
“After, little bird.” he whispered, before kissing her again, feeling her tongue find his, and lifting her his arms, taking her to the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> I've just returned from vacation, and the move is complete but very chaotic currently. I wanted to post a mini update just so everyone knows I still intend to keep my little story going. The next chapter with have some saucy Sansan, and I'm hoping to have it sooner rather than later. But until then, here is just a little update to keep the story going.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me and reading. Take care everyone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, I've returned after quite a year to work on this story. I've re-read the thing a few times and feel like I'd like to revamp the story, clean up some spots and add a little more substance. Over the next couple weeks the whole story will be edited however it will mostly stay the same. This chapter isn't as "interesting" let's say as some others, but I think it's necessary for the story to continue. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

The glow of the fire in the hearth warmed Sansa while drying her all the same. The ache between her legs was fading, and the pounding of her heart was settling. She felt confused and anxious from the whirlwind of changes that had happened lately. She had sent Sandor back with the brothers after their intimate time together until she could give further instruction. If she was facing facts, she was being rather careless with her attentions. The castle was still full of guests and Sansa had mainly been seen with the brothers of the Quiet Isle. After reluctantly saying goodbye to Sandor for the time being, Sansa had her own private melt down.   
  
In the past few days she had gone from feeling nothing at all, no highs, no lows, not even a spark of emotion, to feeling full and complete when she was with Sandor, and the complete opposite when she was with Petyr. It was like she was a rag doll, being thrown around back and forth, risking being ripped at the seams. She giggled to herself, almost in hysterics while she thought of the way things had played out. How strange life was to bring Sandor to her, here and now. Her little laughs turned into sobs when she thought of what had just happened with Petyr. Sure she had been rather hasty with her maidenhead after so long of holding onto it, but she would not have changed to whom she had given it to, not for anything. Their passionate times together had been exactly what she needed and wanted. So why did she feel like this?  
  
When the tears ran dry and she felt stronger again, Sansa moved away from the hearth and began to prepare for the evening meal. She would pay attention to the guests and be on her best behaviours to quell any suspicion Petyr had of her from earlier that day. She chose a forest green gown to wear for the meal and pinned her hair in a northern fashion as was still a habit to her even after all this time. When she felt presentable and ready, Sansa made here way to the hall where she was greeted by many guests. As she made her way next to a grinning Petyr on the small dais, she watched out of the corner of her eye as the two brothers and Sandor made their way to their spot at the back of the room. Her heart pounded in her chest just remembering that Sandor was under those robes but she controlled herself, and let her eyes gaze uninterested across the room.   
  
“I hope your day was as good as mine, daughter.” Petyr said loudly to Sansa, pulling her attentions from the crowd.  
  
“Very good Father, thank you.” she was courteous and bubbly though she mocked his attempt at being clever in her head.   
  
“Most of our guests are leaving on the morrow and I would ask you to help me see them out as it were. It will be nice to have the castle to ourselves once more and I may spoil you with my attention.” he leaned in, allowing his minty breath to tickle her ear in a non pleasant way.   
  
Dread reared it’s ugly head as Sansa thought of the meaning of his words. Could the brothers be leaving tomorrow? They hadn't formulated a way to get her out with them as of yet. Also the thought of more attention from Petyr was enough to chill her blood. Yet, she once again smiled back and lamented how pleased she was to hear this news.   
  
When Petyr turned and gave his conversation elsewhere, Sansa leaned back in her chair, staring down at her untouched soup, attempting to resist the temptation to look at Sandor. She failed rather quickly, glanced up at him and was startled when she saw he was staring back, eyes boring into hers, almost frightening if she didn’t know his true nature. He shook his head at her, saying no to something. Confused and a tad curious, she continued to look at him until a form stood in front of her field of vision and made themselves known. 

  
*****  
  
  
Leaving her room was harder than he thought it would be, but given the night he’d just had, he understood why she made him leave. They had been to risky with their time together and the last thing he wanted was for the little bird to get caught or be put in another position like she was last night. That whole bloody mess with Littlefinger was his fault to begin with. He shouldn’t have taken her maidenhead in the first place. He didn’t regret being with her, these past few days had been the best moments of his life, but she should have given her gift to a true knight like she had always wanted to. To be honest with himself, he didn’t know how he felt given the situation. He was still in disbelief that she had chosen him to begin with, but the guilt that loomed over the ecstasy created nothing but turmoil.    
  
When Sandor and the brothers made their way to the evening meal, another fucking feast, his eyes scanned the room until he found the little bird at the front, looking like the bloody picture of perfection. He tried to act discreet until he saw Petyr lean over and whisper into her ear. His blood began to boil once more and he huffed through his scarf.   
  
“Calm.” murmured brother Narbert who was sitting to Sandor’s left.   
  
He ground his teeth together and kept his eyes on the little bird, he couldn't help himself. He didn’t flinch when her eyes found his, and he couldn’t offer her a soft look either. Sandor knew none of this was her fault, that she couldn’t help Petyr’s actions or words, but he was fed up with this charade. The disguises they both wore, the sneaking around. Her eyes looked pleading, and he couldn't help but shake his head at her. There was no acceptance of another man touching his little bird. It was time to do something. They would be leaving together or he was going to be killing Petyr Baelish very soon.  
  
  
*****  
  
  
Sansa couldn’t believe her luck when that night, Petyr had decided to talk with some knights from the Vale instead of bothering her. She smiled to herself as she made her way to her rooms, accompanied by Mya Stone, a friend of sorts whom had come up to Sansa at the feast. She was at the Eyrie with her mules to take guests home on the morrow, so she was eager to catch up with her bastard friend of whom she genuinely liked.   
  
When Mya bid her a pleasant evening, Sansa took her time letting her hair down and slipping into her night gown. She even hummed to herself, feeling as though even though she was treading water she was at least staying a float. Sleep claimed her as her head touched the pillow and for the first time in a long time, Sansa had a dreamless sleep.   
  
  
*****  
  
  
“You did well today Alayne. I’m very impressed.” Petyr said, patting the small of her back with his hand.   
  
They had spent the morning saying goodbye to guests, wishing them safe travels for the road ahead. Sansa was thrilled when the brothers weren’t among the guests leaving that day and wondered when Petyr expected to have his plans come to pass.   
  
Sansa forced a smile at Petyr, acknowledging his praise.   
  
“Come with my to my solar sweetling. We must speak in private.” he spoke, leaning in as usual.  
  
“Yes, father.”   
  
They walked together, him with his hand still lingering on her back, and as they walked they passed the brothers on their way to Robert Arryn’s room. Petyr stopped to make courtesies with brother Narbert, while Sandor’s eyes lingered on Petyr’s hand on Sansa. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing it would be eating at Sandor, but she couldn’t do anything, not yet. Her eyes moved to the floor, embarrassed, she couldn’t look at Sandor though she felt his gaze. When they finally parted ways she felt like she was leaving her heart behind.   
  
“Sit, Alayne.” Petyr said motioning to the chair in front of his desk. He rounded the great desk and sat down.   
  
She waited patiently while her stomach churned, wondering what else she had done wrong. What could he possibly accuse her of this time? Nothing could be worse than the conversation over her maiden’s gift.   
  
“I think it’s time for some clarity for you Alayne. You’ve been patient and have done very well since you’ve been under my care.”  
  
Under your care? She thought to herself. That’s an interesting way to put what she had been through with him. She waited for him to continue, a glint in his eye.  
  
“Our recent events have changed our path of sorts. Since I had the pleasure of taking your maiden’s gift, which was most unexpected I might add, we will be moving along with the plan in a quicker fashion. I’ve invited Nestor Royce up from the Gates of the Moon. He will be here within a few days, at which he will be a witness to the unveiling of Sansa Stark. I have figured he is well respected and trusted to be a witness, along with the brothers of the Quiet Isle. After which we will announce to the seven kingdoms that you are alive and well under my care. You will speak of your admiration for me for saving you from King’s Landing and at that time we will be wed and claim the North together.”   
  
Sansa nodded weakly, the last part of his words sending a chill down her spine. He took her lack of enthusiasm completely wrong.   
  
“Don’t worry sweetling. Once you’ve come out as Sansa Stark, we won’t need to hide our affections for each other anymore. We will be free to be together.” He smiled, a grin that reached his eyes. He looked at her as if waiting for a claim of her happiness.   
  
“And what of Sweetrobin?” was all she could say.   
  
“What of him? He will die surely. And when he does we will have rid ourselves of the Arryns and will have nothing but respect from the people of the Vale for taking such good care of the ailing boy.”   
  
Forcing another nod, Sansa couldn’t believe how easily Petyr spoke of what could only be described as a slow killing of her cousin. She let him drone on for what seemed like forever before she finally excused herself to return to her chambers and let her tears fall. 


	15. Chapter 15

It was late that evening when Sandor came to her. He hadn’t planned on going, he was planning to leave her be until she would seek him out, but he couldn’t help himself. The remorse he felt for being angry with her had started to become overwhelming and the thought of just taking their chances and leaving under the cover of darkness grew into an urge he couldn’t contain.  
  
The castle seemed deserted so late into the night, and it gave Sandor an easier time to get to her chambers. He laughed to himself silently as he thought of the lack of security in the Eyrie. It was interesting that Petyr would think himself so safe as to not have round the clock guards roaming the halls. Perhaps it was because the Eyrie was so ‘impregnable’. Either way, Sandor was grateful for it. He had slipped out of the rooms he shared with the brothers and moved as silent as one of his stature could. When he finally reached her door, he slid in, shutting the door firmly behind him.  
  
Her sleeping form was visible in the moon light. Sansa’s hair cascaded over the pillow and she lay on her back. She looked tired even in sleep, which sent a wave of guilt through him, she must have been upset. He approached the bed and sat silently on the edge beside her. Sandor could just stay where he was and watch her sleep but there was too much to do and say. He reluctantly shook her shoulder.  
  
“Little bird.” he whispered close to her.  
  
She suddenly woke with a gasp and sat up while looking around.  
  
“Sandor?” she asked, clearly he’d scared the poor girl.  
  
“Aye, it’s me.”  
  
“W-what are you doing here? Is something wrong?” she was panicked.  
  
He chuckled a bitter laugh before placing a hand on her arm.  
  
“This whole bloody thing is wrong.” He muttered.  
  
He heard a small sigh and knew exactly what she was feeling, like there was no way out, which could very well be true. 

“Sandor” she breathed.  
  
“What is it, little bird?”  
  
“When we leave… We have to talk Sweetrobin with us.” she was hesitant, he could hear it in her voice.  
  
Uncertainty filled his gut as he knew carrying the sickly child out of the Eyrie was next to impossible. And he thought getting Sansa out in one piece would be hard. He knew the answer before he asked it but the words came out anyway.  
  
“And why do we need to do that?”  
  
In the dark, he could see the white of her wide eyes looking at him.  
  
“Because Petyr will kill him. It’s going to happen soon, he said so himself, and I can’t let it happen. As insufferable as Sweetrobin is, he is my cousin and I can’t leave knowing he will die, I just can’t. I’ve been guilty enough administering sweet sleep and milk of the poppy. It ends there.”  
  
Sandor replied with the only thing he could muster up.  
  
“As you say.”  
  
—-  
  
He left her room shortly after, there was nothing else to be said, no reunions to be had, with impending doom lingering over his head. Bringing the Arryn whelp with them wasn’t possible. It was sticking a knife through the idea of smuggling Sansa out, the only idea he had.  
  
Pissed off and irritated at the idea of feeling helpless, Sandor slammed the door to his shared chambers and grit his teeth when the brothers looked at him with worry.  
  
“What’s troubling you now, brother?” asked Narbert, who was clearly exasperated.  
  
Sandor paused before continuing, was it safe to tell the brothers everything? He couldn’t imagine it being anything but safe since they hadn’t betrayed him this far, so he went on.  
  
“I had thought to take the little bird away with me, at night, but now Sansa wants to bring Robert Arryn with us. She says Petyr plans to kill him. So now the idea of leaving has gone to shit.” he muttered and made a fist.  
  
The brothers looked at each other, as if exchanging silent words. No one spoke for quite some time. Sandor eased himself down into a worn chair and removed his cowl, while watching the two silently.  
  
“I wish this wasn’t so difficult for you, brother Hurd. Your life hasn’t been easy and it’s a shame this has happened. Would there be any other soothing words I could offer you, know that I would.” Narbert said folding his hands together.  
  
Sandor wanted to rage at his words, he was offering him nothing but comfort and that wasn’t what he needed right now, he needed a bloody miracle.  
  
“May I speak once more?” Brother Gillam asked, once again surprising Sandor and Narbert.  
  
“Continue,” Narbert said with a sigh, the vow of silence wasn’t working out well for anyone involved.  
  
Gillam nodded before pursing his lips.  
  
“While I agree it is most unfortunate that you can’t steal away during the night, it may perhaps be a good thing. It is quite dangerous to do so even if it was just you and the lady. I suggest we leave as one with the permission of Petyr Baelish.”  
  
Sandor couldn’t help but bark a laugh, cutting the brother off from continuing.  
  
“You think that little shit would let us just walk out of here with Sansa and the child?” he asked.  
  
“Allow me to continue,” Gillam spoke.  
  
“Proceed,” Brother Narbert said, shooting Sandor a glance.  
  
Sandor rolled his eyes and turned back to Brother Gillam.  
  
“It is known, by some more than others, that the Elder Brother has healing powers beyond all measure, and that should he fail to heal, it is hopeless. Perhaps if we suggest to Lord Baelish, in the presence of more people, that Robert Arryn should go see the Elder Brother, he would agree, for image sake. At which point the Alayne Stone could volunteer to accompany him. That way we have the right to leave and we could potentially heal the young Robert Arryn of his sickness.”  
  
Brother Narbert began humming and hawing while the idea began to take shape in Sandor’s mind. Could it really be that easy and safe?  
  
“Surely Petyr Baelish wouldn’t send such precious cargo away without a vast amount of guards?” Narbert asked.  
  
“Once we get to the Quiet Isle, Sansa and I could make our escape.” Sandor spoke. Could a plan like this really work?  
  
“And we could plead ignorance, I’m sure.” Gillam suggested.  
  
Brother Narbert chewed on these words for what seemed like an eternity before finally speaking again, when he did his voice was hoarse.  
  
“Then allow me set this into motion.” Narbert finally spoke before he turned and faced the hearth, clearly dismissing the other two.  
  
Sandor let his mind race with the the new plan and put his head in his hands. This was the best hope they had but he hated it. Couldn’t stand the idea of putting his fate in the hands of someone else. Of relying on the permission of Petyr Baelish to leave when in the past he would have killed his way to freedom. Love, this new feeling he had developed for the little bird, was a curious and dangerous thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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